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H ALE-W/ESTON. 


A NOVEL. 


by^ 

ELLIOT SEAWELL. 



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PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY^ 








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Copyright, 1888, by J. B. Lippincott Company. 












LIPPINCOTT’S 

]\/[ONTHLY ]y[AGAZINE. 

JANUARY, 1889. 

HALE- WESTON. 


CHAPTER I. 

A fternoon tea, as an institution, was utterly unknown in 
the simple Virginia neighborhood of fifty years ago where 
Mrs. Thorpe lived and flourished at Broomhill. Nevertheless, every 
afternoon Mrs. Thorpe seated herself behind a shining round mahogany 
table in that corner of the draughty drawing-room nearest the roaring 
wood fire, with a tea-equipage before her, and Juba, a small and very 
black little negro, wearing a white apron that extended from his chin 
to his toes, saw that the bright red coals were heaped under the trivet 
on the hearth where the kettle boiled. Nor was it often that some of 
Mrs. Thorpe's neighbors — she was well ofl* in neighbors — did not drop 
in for a cup of tea and the news ; for, like a great many other people 
who seldom stir from home, she knew everything that happened in the 
county. 

Every country neighborhood has a Mrs. Thorpe, — a widow of good 
estate and excellent intentions, loquacious, and an inveterate match- 
maker. Mrs. Thorpe had considerable material around her to manage 
in this last pastime. First, tliere were the two Brandon girls at Spar- 
row Point. Elizabeth was handsome enough and Anne, was sprightly 
enough to attract notice anywhere, although Mrs. Thorpe frequently 
warned Anne that her nimble wit was rather against her chances of 
matrimony than in favor of them. Nobody, however, could bring that 
charge against Elizabeth, for Elizabeth was discreet as beauties need to 
be. As their father, who was a cynic, expressed it, there was not 
enough humor to go around in the Brandon family, and so Elizabeth 
was unavoidably left out. 

Even Mr. Brandon could not be considered altogether out of the 
matrimonial market, although Mrs. Thorpe complained that she never 
could tell whether Mr. Brandon was laughing at her or not. Then 
there were the four Wickham girls, as alike as peas in a pod, and Dr. 

8 


4 


HALE-WESTON. 


Peyton, wliose land joined Mrs. Thorpe^s, and whom she had been 
half expecting to propose to her for the last twenty years. Mrs. Thorpe 
was ill doubt whether to class the rector, the Rev. Beverley Steptoe, 
among the marriageables or not. He had a good name, — none better, 
— but nobody could give any specific information about Mr. Steptoe’s 
great-grandfather, or even his grandfather ; and his father had been in 
the horse-trading line. Yet Mr. Steptoe became a clergyman, and had 
been for years rector of Petsworth Church, which all the great county 
families attended. He was a big, blutf man, fond of riding to hounds 
on week-days, — for the race of fox-hunting parsons lingered in Virginia, 
— and on Sundays preached vociferous sermons in the pulpit of the old 
colonial church, swinging his arms about in his great white cassock as 
if he were a Dutch windmill, and thumping the cushion with his fist 
while he pounded orthodoxy into his parishioners’ souls. Still, the 
bishop highly endorsed Mr. Steptoe, and winked, sacerdotally, at 
reports that reached him of the clergyman’s being present at cocking- 
mains, and indeed being generally the owner of the victorious bird. 
Mrs. Thorpe was a stanch church woman, and sighed for a more con- 
ventional minister, but, being neither the bishop nor the bishop’s lady, 
she was powerless. There was a report that at some remote period, 
before Mr. Steptoe’s advent from the upper country, as the mountains 
were called, there had been a Mrs. Steptoe, and Mr. Steptoe himself 
occasionally hinted darkly at his widowed condition, but Mrs. Thorpe 
had never quite settled Mr. Steptoe’s status on her list, — whether he 
would marry if he had a chance, or wouldn’t if he had all the chances 
in the world. 

And next there were the Westons of Hale-Weston. Mrs. Weston, 
the mother, was all of three months older than Mrs. Thorpe, — so Mrs. 
Thorpe declared, — and, Mr. Weston — commonly known as Sandy Wes- 
ton — being yet alive, Mrs. Weston was naturally not among the avail- 
ables ; but she had two sons, Henry and Algernon, in whose marriages 
their lady mother was pretty sure to have a hand. 

Mrs. Weston was one‘ of those women whose beauty defies time. 
Except that she had changed from girlhood to womanhood, nobody 
could see any alteration in the firm outlines of her face, the creaminess 
of her colorless olive skin, and the soft splendor of her dark eyes. She 
might readily have passed for the elder sister of her tall and handsome 
son, Henry Weston, and almost for the younger sister of her second 
son, Algy, so wizened and insignificant he was. Algy was cast in 
his father’s mould, who had been nothing more nor less than old 
Colonel Weston’s overseer and by a remarkable series of underhand 
dealings had bought the place from his bankrupt cousin and employer, 
Colonel Weston, and had even married his daughter, Angela Weston. 
It is true that Sandy Weston had ostensibly bought Hale-Weston for 
one Levi Cohen, who was engaged in the clothing-trade and was not 
supposed to have any taste for a country life ; but, someway, after he 
had got possession of the fine old place, Levi never materialized. Why 
Mrs. Angie had married her husband, remained a mystery, but it was 
supposed that a love-atfair and a disappointment with a gentleman 
known as the Chevalier Vaughan had something to do with it. As for 


HALE-WESTON. 


5 


the Chevalier, he was the one person in the neighborhood who apparently 
most needed Mrs. Thorpe’s services as a match-maker, but was the only 
one of whom she really despaired. There was Berry Hill, almost as 
fine a place as Hale- Weston, absolutely suffering for a mistress for more 
years than Mrs. Thorpe could remember; although if the exquisite 
order in which it was kept, and the charming dinners the Chevalier 
gave to his lady friends, were taken into account, it would hardly seem 
that a mistress could improve this well-conducted establishment. 

The Chevalier Vaughan had a way of slipping off to Europe — then 
a gigantic undertaking — every few years, which always disarranged 
Mrs. Thorpe’s matrimonial plans for him at a critical time. But some 
people thought that Mrs. Angela Weston had enough influence over him 
to keep him from marrying, — just as certain others knew that long 
years ago she had inflicted a wound on Dr. Peyton’s honest heart from 
which the doctor had never recovered. He went his way, the simple 
and earnest country doctor, but he never reached a point nearer absolute 
recovery than the conviction that it would have been a dangerous ex- 
periment for both, to have linked Angela Weston’s beauty and spirit 
and ambition to his own humble fate. It is true, Sandy Weston was 
not exactly a satisfactory sort of man for a woman such as Angie Weston 
had been, and was still, for he was mean-looking to the last degree, and 
was a mere money-making machine ; but at least he made money, and 
Mrs. Angie took that celebrated triumphal tour to Paris, and drove a 
coach-and-four, and was altogether the most dashing woman in the 
county. 

The dull February afternoon was waning so fast that Mrs. Thorpe 
had almost dropped asleep in her chair, when Juba, with the delight 
an African feels in announcing a piece of startling intelligence, jumped 
up and bawled into his mistress’s ear, — 

“ Kerridge cornin’ !” 

Mrs. Thorpe waked up with a start : 

I know you’ve been dropping stitches. Bring me that knitting 
this minute, and then go and open the door.” Mrs. Thorpe, being a 
thrifty mistress, required of Juba that in the intervals of filling the 
tea-kettle he should knit, to keep him from poking the fire in winter 
and catching flies in summer. 

Juba dropped the coarse woollen sock he was knitting into his mis- 
tress’s lap, and scurried off to the door, where he stood with his 
white apron enveloping him like a winding-sheet. The kerridge turned 
out to be nothing but Dr. Peyton’s buggy, but at the same moment 
Elizabeth and Anne Brandon ran up the steps of the porch, and they 
all three entered at the same time. 

Mrs. Thorpe was unaffectedly glad to see them all. A week’s rain 
and restriction to the society of Juba and her housekeeper had pre- 
disposed her to society. 

Why, how do you do, doctor? — and my dear girls ! — how pleasant 
it is to see you again ! A whole week ! Take off your things. How 
well you are looking, Anne !” 

So everybody tells me,” answered Anne, unbuttoning her pelisse, 
while Elizabeth gracefully seated herself on the sofa. If Elizabeth 


6 


HALE-WESTON. 


had not already taken the place of the family beauty, I should aspire 
to it myself, ma’am/^ 

“ Highty-tighty !” cried the doctor ; how vain we are getting ! 
We must have heard some compliments lately/' 

Anne looked at him with grave displeasure. 

“ My beauty is not to be lightly spoken of, sir," she answered. As 
the case often is, the fact that one sister was a beauty caused the other's 
pretensions to be rated rather low. Anne's pale, clear skin did not 
compare with Elizabeth's peachy cheeks, nor her steel-gray eyes with 
her sister's tawny hazel ; but people who saw her were not apt to forget 
her. 

Mrs. Thorpe immediately propounded her usual query : 

What's the news, doctor?" 

None at all, that I know of, unless Nancy Brandon's setting up 
for a beauty is news," replied the doctor, pinching Anne's cheek. 

“Papa says," began Elizabeth, in the sweet, slow, serious voice 
with which she uttered all the trivialities she knew, “that he never 
knew the county to be so dull. Mary Wickham has got a new riding- 
habit." 

“If Anne or Elizabeth Brandon had got a new riding-habit, it 
would be indeed a great sensation," said Anne ; for at Sparrow Point 
money was not plentiful, and if it had not been for Anne's management 
the two sisters would have had less even than the little they had to 
dress on. 

Elizabeth winced. Nobody would ever have found out from her 
that new riding-habits were events to the Sparrow Point girls. 

“ Yes, I do know some news," suddenly cried the doctor. “ God 
bless me, why didn't I think of it at once? Henry Weston is going 
to Paris next month for two years." 

Anne Brandon had taken from the mantel-piece a hand-screen. 
Either the glow of the fire or an advancing wave of color made her 
hold it between her and the red light. As for Elizabeth, she was for 
once startled out of herself : 

“ You don't say so ! The most agreeable young man in the neigh- 
borhood." 

Mrs. Thorpe took it in the light of a personal injury : 

“ Henry Weston going away ! Ah, girls, he calls it two years, but 
most likely it will be five, and he'll come home with a foreign wife. 
Dear ! dear ! Why can't he marry some nice girl in the neighborhood, 
and settle down to be Weston of Hale-Weston, like his grandfather?" 
— for Mrs. Thorpe had never been able to regard the ex-overseer as 
Weston of Hale-Weston. 

“For my part," said Anne, quietly, “I think he is right to travel. 
It is what I should do in his place. Kemember, although we are all 
vastly agreeable people, and he will never meet our superiors, yet this 
is, after all, but a quiet, country neighborhood." 

“Well," said Mrs. Thorpe, whose intentions were better than her 
judgment, “ I don't know of anybody who will miss him more than 
you two girls." 

“ That is true," said Anne, in a low voice. 


SALE- WESTON. 


7 


Always riding or walking with one of you, — always sure to lead 
off a ball with one or the other, — always ready to answer your poor 
dear papa back 

Yes, indeed, cried Anne, recovering her liveliness — poor dear 
papa needs answering back, too, so badly. I do the best I can, but 

“ Anne,’^ said Elizabeth, with gentle severity, I don’t think that’s 
the way to speak of papa.” 

Anne doesn’t mean anything, I know,” answered Mrs. Thorpe. 

We all know whose favorite Anne is, and ” 

“Look, Mrs. Thorpe,” said Anne, suddenly, “Juba is dropping 
stitches as fast as he can.” 

“ I ’clar I ain’t !” responded Juba, much aggrieved. “ I ain’t done 
knit a stitch sence de cump’ny come.” 

This was an offence second only to dropping stitches, but it turned 
the current of Mrs. Thorpe’s talk away from who was and who was not 
Mr. Brandon’s favorite daughter. But Mrs. Thorpe could not bear to 
have the direction of Henry Weston’s matrimonial projects taken out 
of her hands, as it were, by the impending grand tour. After bewail- 
ing it for ten minutes, she concluded it couldn’t possibly be so, — that 
Mrs. Weston would certainly have told her, and that the fact that Mrs. 
Weston had not told her was a grievous slight put upon her. Anyway, 
she wouldn’t believe it until she had heard it from Henry Weston him- 
self. 

That was the very source of his information, remarked Dr. Peyton. 

Then, Mrs. Thorpe declared, he must have misunderstood Henry 
Weston ; and just as this point was under discussion, another alarm 
from Juba of “Kerridge cornin’ !” showed the Hale-Weston carriage 
drawn up in front of the door, and Henry Weston in the act of helping 
his mother to descend. As Mrs. Weston entered the room, Dr. Peyton’s 
middle-aged heart gave a kind of jump that he had felt on seeing her 
any time for twenty-five years. 

Mrs. Weston’s rich dress of velvet and fur set off her mature yet 
delicate beauty. It was one of her crimes against her own sex that 
she dressed surpassingly well, and wore silks and velvets in common, 
which in those days few could do. 

Mrs. Thorpe was delighted to see her. Elizabeth fixed her eyes on 
the cut of the velvet pelisse, and Anne received a cordial kiss on the 
cheek. 

Immediately after her came Henry Weston. He was his mother’s 
son in every feature, quite tall enough to look over the doctor’s head. 

“ Oh, my dear Henry,” exclaimed Mrs. Thorpe, as soon as tliey 
were seated, “ such dreadful news about you Dr. Peyton has been giving 
us ! Going away for several years ! I declare, these poor girls are 
quite broken-hearted over it. — Mrs. Weston, do let me give you a cup 
of tea. It’s regular Souchong, and I’ve got a whole box of it. Isn’t 
it distressing?” 

Henry Weston murmured something about being flattered. Anne 
did not relish his being told that his goings and comings broke either 
her heart or Elizabeth’s. 

“ Mrs. Thorpe hasn’t half stated the case,” she said, gravely. “ Our 


8 


HALE-WESTON. 


spirits are broken too. I shan’t go to any more balls, I don’t care 
what Elizabeth does. Do you hear that ?” ♦ 

Henry Weston smiled good-humoredly : 

I declare, I don’t know anything more alarming than to find your 
eyes fixed on me at a ball. I am certain to hear something to my dis- 
advantage next day. I understand that in your family discussions Mr. 
Brandon is actually obliged to take up for me.” 

Anne’s bantering had never made much headway against Henry 
Weston. He took it in good part, and retaliated in kind, — and liked 
her better than any girl in the county. 

‘‘Anne,” said Mrs. Weston, “if you won’t sympathize with any- 
body else in Henry’s going away, do so at least with me. Algy is so 
taken up with farming, and Toinette with her governess,” — Toinette 
was Mrs. Weston’s only daughter, — “that I should suffer for company 
at home but for Henry. But it isn’t to be for three months yet.” 

“ That’s a relief,” cried Anne. “ If we can support it, I suppose 
we shall go to the Chevalier Vaughan’s party with the best spirits we 
can muster up.” 

“ Next week it comes off,” said Mrs. Thorpe. “ Of course you are 
invited, Mrs. Weston?” 

“ Certainly,” replied Mrs. Weston, loftily. Imagine a party at 
Berry Hill to which she would not be invited ! Only Mrs. Thorpe 
could have asked that question. 

“ And, Henry,” continued Mrs. Thorpe, “ I shall give a party, too, 
to celebrate your departure — no, I don’t quite mean celebrate ” 

“ And another to celebrate my coming home, I hope.” 

“If you ever do come home; but the dangers of those who go 
down to the sea in ships ” 

Mrs. Weston clapped both hands to her ears and grew a little pale : 

“ Don’t ! don’t, Mrs. Thorpe ! I am trying not to think of that 
part of it.” 

“ Think of weeks and weeks of wind and rain at sea like that we 
have had for the last five or six days.” 

“ But, Mrs. Thorpe,” remarked Dr. Peyton, “ didn’t you hear Mr. 
Steptoe pray for rain last Sunday ?” 

“ W ell, I’m sure he got it. That’s the way with Mr. Steptoe : he 
always overdoes things,” replied Mrs. Thorpe. 

“ How very irreverent you are, ma’am !” cried Anne. “ I shall tell 
papa. He said it was not worth while for Mr. Steptoe to pray for rain 
until the moon changed. Mind, I don’t defend papa.” 

And then they all drank tea, and gossiped as neighbors do. Henry 
Weston almost fell out with Anne, she rallied him so unmercifully. It 
was a time for sentiment, he thought, when he was going away for two 
years. 

In country neighborhoods it takes but a little fire to start a great 
smoke ; and the news that had been told at Mrs. Thorpe’s tea-table 
travelled quickly, and made a whirlwind of talk. The Wickham girls 
and Elizabeth Brandon felt that life would be a very different thing 
with Henry Weston, the most accomplished young man in the neighbor- 
hood, in that inaccessible region called Paris. 


HALE-WESTON. 


9 


CHAPTER II, 

It seemed to Mrs. Angela Weston sometimes that the world had a 
cruelly long memory respecting her. Other women had had disappoint- 
ments in love, and it had not been remembered when they had sons of 
a marriageable age. But the fact is, the county had been used for so 
many years to find something to talk about in those two important 
and good-looking persons, Mrs. Weston and the Chevalier Vaughan, 
that it could not bear to give them up. Then, Mrs. Weston had done 
some things herself to keep talk alive. When the day had come that 
old Colonel Weston’s ruin was known, and the Chevalier Vaughan, 
although he knew it in Paris within a month, had not come instantly 
home to fulfil that half- engagement between Angela and himself, she 
had fallen into a fury of wrath that made her feel capable of killing 
him ; and in that first anguish she had turned around and married 
Sandy Weston, whom she did not hate because she felt he was not 
worth hating. In six months the Chevalier had returned, to find her 
mistress of Hale- Weston, richer, freer, than she could have been as his 
wife. Naturally, the first time they saw each other alone, there was a 
scene. He upbraided her that almost along with the news of Colonel 
Weston’s wreck had come that of her marriage to Sandy Weston ; and 
Angela had poured out her passion of pain, the fierceness of disappoint- 
ment that had flung her into Sandy Weston’s arms. The Chevalier 
had left her with a pale face and some kind of a promise implied that 
henceforth no other woman should have his allegiance. Men are wont 
to regard these promises made to soothe a woman who feels or fancies 
herself ill used, as quite perfunctory. But either the Chevalier was a 
little quixotic, or the very love of his easy, pleasant bachelorhood that 
had made him slow in coming to Angela’s side at a critical moment 
was eventually in her favor. Certain it was, Mrs. Weston had such 
remarkable tact that she never made him try to break through the in- 
tangible fetters with which she bound him. She was neither exigeant, 
nor jealous, nor anything but gently winning. What Mrs. Weston 
really felt for him was a source of conjecture not only to him, but to 
herself sometimes. She was not unhappy. She was mistress of the 
finest place in the county ; she had a husband who seldom troubled and 
never opposed her ; she had the tender, concealed regard of the most 
accomplished man of her acquaintance long after the age when most 
women are compelled to resign the particular admiration of men ; and 
she had one child, out of her three, who was a source of unmixed joy 
and gratification to her. Whatever doubt she had felt of herself 
regarding other people, Mrs. Weston was very well assured that her 
love for her eldest son was genuine and overmastering. Perhaps 
because Algy, her other son, was sandy-haired and like his father, he 
was not very dear to her ; and Toinette was a solemn, shy little thing, 
without either beauty or sprightliness. Mrs. Weston, who loved grace 
and sense and beauty, sometimes felt that in Henry Weston she had at 
last got even with fate. 

The pride and pleasure Mrs. Weston took in her eldest boy were 


10 


HALE- WESTON. 


supplemented by the pride and pleasure she took in Hale- Weston, 
which she meant to be his heritage, if the wit of woman could compass 
it. Algy, she briefly and comfortably decided, must be provided for 
someway, and Toinette must not be portionless; but Henry Weston 
was to be Weston of Hale- Weston. 

For in those days the old English idea of the importance of a 
landed proprietor was incalculably strong. To be master of Hale- 
Weston and its negroes, however, was indeed to be a landed autocrat. 
In the home tract there were two thousand acres, to say nothing of the 
Highlands estate added to the original purchase, on which there was a 
fine large house, which was not occupied, and ample barracks for the 
negro hands who migrated there during the spring and returned to 
Hale- Weston in the autumn. The Hale- Weston land was rich and 
black, and laughed if it was tickled with a hoe. The house itself was 
a great brick building with wings, vast but low. The entrance was 
through a broad granite portico, and rambling bay-windows and side- 
entrances led out upon a terrace with a stone balustrade. The grounds 
were planted with silver beeches and horse-chestnuts and great magnolia- 
trees. Far down the outer lane, a double row of magnolias, tall and 
straight, like soldiers on parade, stood in stately ranks. In the spring- 
time, when the royal white blossoms showed amid the polished leaves, 
and the horse-chestnut buds pushed through their pale pink sheaths, — 
when the lilac hedges and the great clumps of syringas and Guelder roses 
were in bloom, — Hale- Weston was in its glory. And then there was an 
ancient garden, surrounded by a tall brick wall, made in gigantic scal- 
lops, where there were long arbors of clinging roses, and thickets of 
rose-bushes, and beds of gorgeous tulips and hyacinths. 

^^Good God, madam,’^ Mr. Steptoe would shout, when in. .the early 
spring the best field-hands were told off to Avork the garden and trim 
up the vines and keep the grass in order, with the force you’ve got 
here pottering about these flowers and things you could raise a thousand 
bushels of -corn !” 

Mrs. Weston would smile a little disdainfully. “But flowers are 
as necessary to a complete existence as corn,” she would say, — or some- 
thing like it. Her sense of beauty was keen, — >almost rapacious. Henry 
and Algy were strictly forbidden to kill the thrushes and larks and 
mocking-birds that sought this fair domain ; and when Henry, with 
boyish arrogance, fancying everything at Hale- Weston subject to his 
imperial will, went bird’s-nesting in the lilac hedge against his mother’s 
express orders, he was made to rue it. Keziah, his mammy, laid a 
birch switch vigorously on the future master of Hale- Weston, under 
Mrs. Weston’s own supervision, albeit Mrs. Weston was usually chary 
of punishing her eldest boy. 

But, although the boy admired his mother and was passionately 
fond of her, she could not dominate him. And he had clear eyes, 
which made her sometimes uncomfortable. Once, she could not 
remember without a burning blush, she stood in the long green- 
house at Hale-Weston and allowed the Chevalier Vaughan to press 
a kiss upon her hand. Presently she heard a book fall, and, turn- 
ing, saw a boyish figure rush past the towering plants and out of 


HALE-WESTON. 


11 


the door. It was a pretty little scene, and harmless enough, but it 
came suddenly to an end. The Chevalier got on his black horse and 
rode away, and Mrs. Weston went forward to the other end of the 
greenhouse, where, sure enough, a book lay on the floor. She stooped 
and picked it up. Yes, it was Henry’s. Nobody in that house but 
Henry Weston and herself ever read books. She dropped her hand 
into the fountain that plashed lazily among the ferns and stunted 
palms, and, when she wiped it on her handkerchief, could not but wish 
that she could wipe off the Chevalier’s kiss, although so faint and 
light she had hardly felt it. 

Meanwhile, the Chevalier, riding down the long avenue of magnolia- 
trees that were the glory of Hale-Weston, saw a solitary little boy sitting 
under the hedge, with a dog across his knees. The Chevalier dropped 
his riding- whip, and, getting down to find it, pretended to notice Henry 
Weston for the first time. 

“,Why, my fine fellow,” he said, in his jovial, rich voice, “ what 
are you doing here alone ?” 

Nothing,” replied the boy, sulkily 

Don’t you want to come over to Berry Hill some day, and to let 
me show you the guns and swords I brought all the way from Turkey ?” 

No,” answered Henry, in the same tone. 

Then I’ll take Algy.” 

You may take Algy. Algy is a low-lived fellow. I had a fight 
with him this morning.” 

“ So you are a fighting fellow — aha ?” 

The boy got up and looked the Chevalier straight in the eye in a 
way that showed there was a drop of tiger’s blood in him. 

Yes, I am a fighting fellow. If I were a man I would fight you 
if you ever kissed my mother’s hand.” 

The Chevalier felt the same kind of shame, as he looked into the 
lad’s innocent boyish eyes, that Mrs. Weston had felt. He was not 
more than half-way up to the Chevalier’s stalwart shoulders, and yet 
the rage sparkling in his young face — so like, ah, so like his mother’s ! 
— made the Chevalier feel an unconscious respect for him, and a dis- 
approval not unmixed with a certain affection. 

You are a foolish child, — very spoiled and unmannerly.” 

He mounted his horse and galloped off, while Henry began to walk 
dismally towards the house. On the way he encountered Algy digging 
hard in the little patch of garden that the two boys cultivated, Henry for 
fun and Algy for the sake of the silver dollars his father paid him for 
his turnips and potatoes. 

Algy,” said the older boy, contemptuously, after a pause, I don’t 
believe you care about anything, so long as you can sell your potatoes 
and things.” 

Naw,” said Algy, whose speech, like his father’s, smacked of the 
soil, while Henry had the clear tones and soft enunciation of his 
mother. 

Henry gazed a moment, and passed on, with his heart still fuller of 
bitterness. 

Standing on the stone steps that led down from the greenhouse 


12 


HALE-WESTON, 


to the lawn was his mother. She called him, and he came sullenly 
enough. 

My boy,’^ she said, gently, putting her arm around his neck, why 
did you quarrel with your brother this morning 

‘‘I didn’t quarrel with him,” said Henry, coolly. just licked 
him without saying two words. When I am a man, I mean to whip 
the Chevalier Vaughan.” 

It seemed grotesque that the wrath of this half-grown stripling should 
make anybody afraid; but Mrs. Weston feared her young game-chick 
before his spurs were grown. 

“ You are a bad, naughty boy,” she said, with sudden anger. I 
will have you whipped for speaking so.” 

But she did not have him whipped. 

Something else happened to Angela Weston that day which caused 
her to remember it. The boy had not been the only witness of that 
little scene in the greenhouse. Mrs. Weston did not often condescend 
to quarrel with her husband, but that day they quarrelled furiously, — 
quarrelled to the point of Sandy Weston’s threatening that, after all. 
Hale- Weston might not belong to that cherished eldest son, — which 
brought Mrs. Weston nearer to capitulation than she had ever expected 
to be brought. Peace, however, was patched up, Mrs. Weston stooping, 
as she bitterly considered it, to some of the winning and captivating 
ways she had never used on her lout of a husband before, to ward off 
that dreadful danger from her best-beloved. 

The Weston boys and the Brandon girls had grown up together, 
and in their childhood enjoyed the kind of intimacy that comes from 
an interchange of measles and whooping-cough, a fall down the hay- 
stack on Henry Weston’s part, and a tumble in the creek for Algy, each 
precipitated by Anne. As for Elizabeth, she was never anything but 
demure and well-behaved, and had an inveterate propensity for fancy- 
work, which she did with great industry and neatness, from her earliest 
years. Their father spent his time in his library, turning Latin verses, 
and devising means to raise money on the already encumbered acres of 
Sparrow Point. These pursuits engaged him so much that he left the 
charge of his motherless girls entirely to Miss Pryor, who did her 
best, poor thing, although perfectly incapable,” as Mrs. Thorpe declared. 
However, natural talents, in Anne, and the tireless energy which dull 
people sometimes display, in Elizabeth, did much to make up for Miss 
Pryor’s deficiencies. Mr. Brandon and Mrs. Weston had seen each 
other not less than once a week during their joint lives, yet they were 
still trying to find each other out, when their children were men and 
women. Mrs. Weston found the same fault with Mr. Brandon that 
Mrs. Thorpe did, — she never knew when he was laughing at her, — and 
Mr. Brandon secretly felt some uneasiness lest Mrs. Weston were not 
throwing dust in his eyes when she was apparently taking him most in 
her confidence. Anyhow, he knew that Mrs. Weston gave the best 
dinners in the county ; and Mrs. Weston was clear that she was very 
fond of the Brandon girls and would not mind having one of them for 
a daughter-in-law. It is true they had no money, — for Sparrow Point 
was the property of half a dozen people, — but Mrs. Weston proudly 


HALE- WESTON. 


13 


said to herself, My son, Henry Weston, can afford to marry whom he 
likes.” Although not by any means a walking matrimonial agency 
like Mrs. Thorpe, it cannot be supposed that Mrs. Weston took no 
thought of the daughter-in-law who was to succeed her. Algy, she 
reasoned, would marry money, and for that account she took no pre- 
cautions to keep him and Miss Fisher, Toinette^s pretty governess, 
apart. Henry, on the contrary, who was secretly much bored by Miss 
Fisher, she watched with a hawk’s eye. 

One day Mrs. Weston happened to think it would be a good thing 
to find out, before Henry Weston went away for two years or more, if 
he had any especial fancy for either of the Brandon girls. She put it 
in practice that very night, as she sat in the fine old hall at Hale- 
Weston, with Henry reading under the lamp. 

They sat in an alcove under the broad and shallow staircase, up 
which a coach-and-four could be driven. The alcove was as big as a 
good-sized room, but it looked like a mere niche in the vast hall out- 
side. A large folding screen warded off the draughts from the huge old 
doors and windows, which not even the warmth of the burning logs in 
the deep fireplace could keep at bay. Within the alcove a smaller fire- 
place, running into the great middle chimney, glowed redly. Algy was 
buried in his newspaper on the other side of the table. Miss Fisher, in 
a whisper, helped Toinette with her French verbs. Mrs. Weston, wear- 
ing a pale-tinted silk gown, according to her habit at home, — which 
habit had caused more adverse criticism than anything in her career, — 
sat in a large arm-chair and toasted her little slippered feet comfortably. 

My son,” — Henry Weston was distinctively my son,” — “ don’t 
you think Elizabeth Brandon looked very handsome at the Wickhams’ 
last night ?” 

Very,” answered Henry, laying down his book politely. 

^^She is the handsomest woman I know,” continued Mrs. Weston, 
reflectively. ' 

She is not as handsome as you,” responded Henry, resuming his 

book. 

This was flattering, but did not advance matters. 

Anne looks very well on horseback.” 

Mrs. Weston fancied she. detected a little more animation in her 
son’s tone as he replied, — 

Anne is very graceful both in walking and riding.” 

“ It is easy to locate Elizabeth’s beauty ; but Anne’s, — I think it 
must be her eyes. Generally they are gray, sometimes they are blue, 
occasionally they are black. Then they are very soft, — when they are 
not very bright.” 

Anne can persuade people, when she chooses, that she is hand- 
somer than she really is.” 

This would have been altogether unfavorable if Henry Weston had 
not continued, — 

“ Yet that power of persuasion is the essence of beauty and fasci- 
nation.” 

A pause. Mrs. Weston determines on a coup, while Henry pursues 
his book : 


14 


HALE-WESTON. 


would seem quite natural that you should marry Anne or 
Elizabeth.” 

Which one, ma’am ?” inquires Henry, calmly, turning his eyes one 
moment from the page he is reading. It is a pity there are no legal 
methods to compel whichever one you finally select for me to take me. 
You know young ladies are capricious. Anne Brandon, I think, is 
downright perverse.” 

Mrs. Weston smiled proudly. The idea of any girl in her senses 
refusing that tall fellow opposite her, with all his sense and manliness, 
and Hale- Weston into the bargain ! 


CHAPTER III. 

In the provincial life of that day, anything was seized upon as an 
excuse for a round of parties. So Henry Weston’s approaching de- 
parture was the cause of a tremendous amount of dancing, and the 
consumption of vast bowls of apple toddy and hot punch ; and Josh, 
the black fiddler, with his assistants. Left-hand Tom and Bob Flute, 
almost sawed their arms off and blew their lungs out, fiddling and 
fluting for the balls that were given in his honor. Of course Anne and 
Elizabeth Brandon were present at these festivities, and Anne was, if 
anything, a more determined party-goer than Elizabeth. Mr. Brandon 
complained that his daughters were both possessed with dancing devils ; 
and when Anne dragged him from his comfortable, shabby old library 
chair to accompany them on a ten-mile drive over country roads to 
a ball, where they danced until the dawn crept into the sky, Mr. 
Brandon pished and pshawed and wished that Henry Weston would 
go and let him rest in peace. 

Nobody was gayer or danced more at the parties than Anne 
Brandon; and, besides, she began to get prettier. Her eyes grew 
brighter, — sometimes they were quite painfully bright, — and her smiles 
and laughter were more frequent. It is true that Mrs. Thorpe had 
informed her, in a burst of confidence, that the county was very much 
exercised to know whether Henry Weston would go away engaged to 
her or not, — which threw Anne into a cold fury with Mrs. Thorpe, 
much to that lady’s surprise. As, however, sensible people who live 
in the country take care not to quarrel with their neighbors, so Anne, 
after the first angry outburst, agreed to an armistice between Mrs. 
Thorpe and herself. Mrs. Thorpe was truly attached to Anne, and was 
as innocent as usual in telling her this, which was calculated to rouse 
any girl of spirit. Mrs. Thorpe could no more keep what she heard 
than a sieve could hold water ; and this was the reason that Anne could 
forgive her. 

But the county had nothing to do with either Henry Weston or 
herself, and she would take good care that it should know how little 
Henry Weston was to her. This Anne resolved fiercely while dressing 
for the final event of all before he went away, — a grand ball at Hale- 
Weston, — a ball wdiich Mrs. Weston declared should be eclipsed only 
by the one she meant to give when Henry returned. As Anne sur- 


HALE- WESTON. 


15 


veyed herself in her looking-glass by the light of two tall candles, 
before she descended to the rickety old carriage, she felt something like 
satisfaction with her own looks, in her tamboured muslin, and her 
mother’s string of pearls around her white throat. A few white hya- 
cinths completed her simple toilette, — but which Anne, who had a 
keen eye for form and color, knew was thoroughly effective. 

Mr. Brandon, who wore his evening-coat philosophically, and regu- 
larly gave directions where to find his will in case he should be found in 
a roadside ditch with his neck broken after one of these expeditions, 
opened his eyes expressively as Anne came down the broad old-fashioned 
stairs. Elizabeth had preceded her, and sat with her gown tucked 
carefully around her, perched uncomfortably on a chair. 

“ Why, Anne !” said her father; you are almost pretty ! If I did 
not know that one single compliment would turn the head of an other- 
wise sensible woman, I should unhesitatingly say that you are far from 
bad-looking.” 

“Thank you, sir,” retaliated Anne, with much spirit. “Your 
compliment was remarkably well turned, as you have contrived to 
praise both my mind and my person.” 

It was one of Anne’s pretty times, and she knew it. 

Afar off, as they drove down the long avenue of magnolia-trees, 
which were now bursting into flower, they saw the lights of Hale- 
Weston. The grounds were lighted with colored lanterns, and old 
Hector, the gray-headed factotum, who had been old Colonel Weston’s 
body-servant, stood on the steps of the great front porch to greet the 
guests and to direct the coachmen where to take their horses. Hector 
considered it his duty to make up for the insignificance of the master 
of the house by an extra flourish on his own part. 

“ Howdy, Mr. Brandon ? Sarvint, my young mistisses,” said he, 
throwing wide the carriage door and letting down the steps. “ Glad to 
see you out dis heah ebenin’, Mr. Brandon.” 

“ And I am glad to find so much youthful folly in myself that I 
can come. Just give me your arm down this step. I should hate to 
break my leg at my time of life going to a dancing-party.” 

“ An’ my young mistisses, — bloomin’ like de honeysuckles.” 

Anne smiled her thanks for her share of the compliment, and 
jumped lightly out. Elizabeth descended with more dignity and cir- 
cumspection. 

Mrs. Weston received her guests at the door of the big drawing-room, 
with Henry Weston on one side of her, and Mr. Weston, almost lost 
in the voluminous folds of her pale-yellow satin train, on the other. 
Certainly the master of Hale-Weston had never lost the look and bear- 
ing of an overseer. Henry Weston, although he had his mother’s eyes 
and her clear profile, had his grandfather’s tall and stalwart figure. 
Old people who remembered the last owner of Hale-Weston remarked 
on the strange likeness between him and the old colonel, who slept 
peacefully under the yews of the Hale-Weston burying-ground. 

The rooms were quite full, and in the vast hall the dancers were 
tripping through country-dances and quadrilles to the excited fiddling 
of Josh and his supers. Josh, magnificently arrayed in a blue coat and 


16 


HALE- WESTON. 


brass buttons, beat time, rolled his eyes until the whites gleamed, and 
roared out the figures, while he sawed the bow : 

Balance all, ladies am! gent^mun ! You Bob Flute, I doan’ hear 
nuttin’ cornin’ outen dat ar flute. Blow, you wuffless black nigger, 
blow dat flute. Lead up de middle, fust couple. Han’s all around. 
Hat’s de Agger, and dat’s de way ter do it. Wuk dat arm o’ yourn, 
Lef’-han’ Torm. Hese heah white folks is quality, and dey wants 
quality music.” 

Henry Weston had not danced yet, but when Anne appeared he 
asked her for the first quadrille. When they stood up at the head of 
the hall. Josh bawled out, as he flourished his bow, — 

Do yo’ bes’ wid dat ar flute an’ fiddle, boys. Doan’ yer see de 
young marse a-stannin’ up wid de puttiest young lady in de room ? an’ 
if dey ain’t de han’somest couple I ever see, I c’yarn play de fiddle, 
dat’s all.” 

A roar of laughter saluted this. Anne turned crimson, which made 
her not less pretty, and Henry Weston colored too as he laughed and 
answered Josh, — 

Mind your business, sirrah, and give us the best music you can.” 

If spirit, and the exquisite perception of time which a negro musi- 
cian invariably possesses, constitute good music, then Josh’s performance 
was of a high order of merit. So at least thought Anne Brandon, 
whose little feet tripped nimbly through the dance. It is something to 
feel that one is at one’s best, and singled out for the attentions of the 
most distinguished man in the room. 

As for Henry Weston, he was certainly very much in love with 
Anne that night, — only, he was intent on that exploration of the glories 
of those far-off foreign places which he remembered dimly as he saw 
them in his childhood. He did not think it would be quite the chival- 
rous thing to. leave her almost the instant she had promised to be his, 
and yet to go away without a word was difficult ; and suppose that 
word was spoken, — two years and new scenes and adventures were 
dangerous to constancy on his part, and to affection on hers, — for so he 
ignorantly reasoned, knowing nothing of the kind of heart Anne Bran- 
don had ; and then the bewildering doubt whether Anne would take 
him at all, — it was altogether difficult and confusing. Henry Weston, 
you see, stood where men often stand, at the meeting of the ways, and 
knew not which to take, because he knew not himself. 

But Anne, with a woman’s finer intelligence, knew. She dared not 
ask herself what she felt for Henry Weston, nor even what it would be 
for her to be mistress one day of that great house and all the fertile 
acres of Hale-Weston, — which was something to her, as it would have 
been to any woman. But she would not keep him, if she could, — 
which she much doubted ; nor should he take away with him her heart in 
his keeping. All this was very sensible, if she could but have measured 
the pain that his absence would mean and the chances that she was 
throwing away her happiness. But, being one of those women who 
delight in wreaking vengeance on their own rebellious hearts, and whose 
pride is always armed, sleepless and watchful, she did just what might 
have been expected. She was in strange good spirits, and laughed at 


HALE- WESTON. 


17 


Henry Weston^s attempts to give the conversation a sentimental turn ; 
and when he would have taken her to a quiet, moonlit corner of the 
greenhouse, a little away from the lights and the dancers, she went off 
on the Chevalier Vaughan’s arm, looking up in his face with a glance 
so bright and interested that the Ciievalier forgot his iron-gray hair, 
and wondered why he had not seen those unknown depths in Anne’s 
gray-black eyes before. 

And Henry Weston, watching them with displeasure, angry, chafed, 
and full of sullen wrath, wondered if the Chevalier Vaughan was 
always to be in his way ; for he had no more forgotten that day when 
he sat under the hedge and promised the Chevalier to fight him than 
the Chevalier or his mother had, — because the boyish threat had made 
a strange impression on both. 

As for Anne, she had had a triumph. She had received more atten- 
tion than any other girl at the ball. Mrs. Thorpe, the Wickhams, and 
half the county had seen Henry Weston attempt to detain her as she 
went off with the Chevalier, — had seen that he danced with none but her, 
while she had danced every time, — had seen that she was gay and light- 
hearted and full of spirits. Henry Weston himself put her in the 
carriage and made one last effort. He pressed her hand tenderly, and 
murmured something which even as he spoke was lost in a laughing 
challenge she called out to the Chevalier Vaughan, standing on the 
stone steps of the portico. Henry W eston banged the carriage door to 
angrily in his inamorata’s face. 

They had only a mile to drive, yet Elizabeth settled herself back it 
the corner and w^ent immediately to sleep. 

^^Did you enjoy yourself, papa?” asked Anne, who was strangel} 
overflowing with spirits that seemed unflagging. 

Immensely. I am so fond of the gay world. But, Anne, did you 
enjoy yourself?” 

Anne opened her eyes, wide and bright : 

‘‘Didn’t you see,^sir? Wasn’t I dancing all the time? It was 
much the prettiest and gayest ball I was ever at.” 

“ Yes ; but, my dear, when you are gay, beware that you are not 
too gay, and when you are clever, look out that you are not too clever. 
Extreme ingenuity and excessive success in your designs may yet make 
you wretched.” 

After the gayest ball in her life, Anne looked at herself again in 
her glass by the ghostly light of the earliest dawn, and saw only a pale, 
unhappy girl, and, after dancing all night, wept herself bitterly to sleep. 


CHAPTER IV. 

Will it be believed that Paris, fifty or sixty years ago, was a much 
gayer town than it is now ? — gayer even than under the Second Empire, 
when a vast number of bayonets were concerned in forcing the people 
to laugh, dance, and enjoy themselves? It was before 1848, and, some- 
way, Europe has never been quite so full of fun since then. The com- 
mands to be gav have not been so well obeyed by the people. Will it 
VoL. XLIII.— 2 


18 


HALE-WESTON. 


not at least be believed that the gayety was much noisier, more striking, 
bizarre? — that it was a time of secret societies, of revolution? — that 
the police were anxious for the people to be amused, to laugh, to do any- 
thing except trouble the Chamber of Deputies ? — that gambling, which 
is now practised decorously and on the sly, went on with a brazen open- 
ness that would shock the aesthetic play of to-day? — that at Frascati’s, 
the greatest gambling-house in Paris, play went on in every hour of 
the twenty-four, and suicides were commoner there than at Monaco ? — 
that duelling was considered legitimate sport ? — that young men who 
led the revolt against the classicists went to the theatre in green trousers, 
purple coats, and red waistcoats ? — that the young sprigs of fashion did 
not come to the Grand Opera to hear Persiani and Catalani sing, but to 
see Fanny and Th^r^se Elssler and Taglioni dance? — that the foyer of 
the opera-house was so crowded with the wits and beaux and litUratmrs 
of Paris that the dancers could scarcely make their %vay to the stage ? 
Yes, Paris was very gay. The foreign colonies of rich Americans, 
English, Russians, were then unknown : only a few of each nation 
gathered together and formed a heterogeneous circle. Poor people did 
not come to Paris to save money then. Only the rich came. Paris 
was the place to spend, not to save. 

There were no Haussmanized avenues. The Arc de I’fitoile was 
then a great unfinished mass, where workmen hammered all day long ; 
a tangle of squalid streets debouched into the Place de la Carrousel ; 
the Bois de Boulogne was a ragged, stunted wood. The gutters ran 
down the middle of tlie streets, and at night the darkness was pierced 
by oil lamps that were swung across the streets by ropes. But Paris 
was more Paris — more French — than the cosmopolitan Paris of to-day 
is. It was but a little more than half the size it is now ; Passy and 
Meudon were some distance in the country. No English was spoken 
there ; and an American might walk from one end of it to the other 
without meeting a countryman. He did not find a whole section of 
the United States put down in the midst of the Rue de Rivoli or the 
Faubourg St.-Honor6. If he knew anybody, he must know French 
people. If he went to balls, he must go to French balls. If he had 
letters of introduction to the American minister, he might be one of a 
flock of black-coated young fellows introduced solemnly by the minister 
to His Majesty at the state balls given at the H6tel de Ville or the 
^llys6e. Yet, withal, there was more noise, more gayety, in one year 
of that Paris than in ten of the modern Paris. Then it was that Paris 
got the name of wickedness. Now it is as decorous as any town on 
earth. 

So to this gay, fascinating, unique Paris came Henry Weston, to 
learn to be wise, to go back readily and delightedly to the tame, easy life 
of a Virginia squire. After all, he did much better than the majority 
of rich young men going to Paris with a big balance at his banker’s, — 
for Madam had seen to it that her favorite son was well provided for by 
his somewhat hard and saving father. He had a comfortable apart- 
ment in the Rue Lafitte, where he had some good wines and some ad- 
mirable cigars, and there he sat himself down to enjoy life. Of course 
he went to one or other of the theatres every night ; naturally he went 


HALE- WESTON. 


19 


to a gambling-place occasionally and left some of his money behind 
him ; but there were other things besides the giddy whirl of the theatres 
and the streets that attracted Henry Weston. He wandered through the 
picture-galleries with a dim, groping, but abiding love for the art he saw ; 
he devoured the books that came in his way; he sought out the spots 
he remembered when he had been in Paris long years before ; he exer- 
cised his awkward French with college professors*: on the whole, it was 
about as wholesome a mode of life as a spirited young man could be ex- 
pected to lead. He had few acquaintances ; he might have had many, for 
in those days a rich young Virginia planter was of as much consequence 
as a billionaire New York soap-manufacturer or hard ware- merchant now 
is, who is pretty sure of being welcomed by his compatriots in Paris, and 
who finds numbers of people familiar with the fact that he has a gigantic 
income. 

But there was so much to absorb Henry Weston that he thought 
little of the balls and parties of Paris. Much of his time, it must be 
admitted, was spent at the theatres. He thought he could never get 
enough theatre-going. He went to see Elssler and Taglioni night after 
night, and cheered himself hoarse when those goddesses of the dance 
passed through the shouting crowd of their admirers on their way from 
the stage entrance to their carriages. Nor did he confine himself to the 
glories of the Com^die Franyaise, the Acad4mie, Les Italiens, and other 
high-class and expensive resorts. He often wandered into odd little 
theatres out by the barriers, away from the heart of the town, towards 
the Pont Neuf, and saw odd little plays acted by odd little companies, 
— everything very small, almost provincial, separated by an impassable 
barrier of custom from the great gilded palaces near the Champs-Elys^es. 

It was at one of these stray, wedged-in, shabby little play-houses that 
Henry Weston’s fine resolves all came to naught, and from being a gay 
and light-hearted young fellow he became a very morose and unhappy 
man. 

Of course it all happened through a trifle. He dined at a restaurant 
one evening quite out towards the barriers. He meant to go that night 
and see the lovely Elsslers caper. As he came out, he lighted his cigar, 
but the match would not burn. He lighted another. It went out. He 
finally coaxed a third to light his cigar, but then the cigar grew cranky. 
Walking along slowly, shielding his cigar with both hands, his eyes fell 
idly on the open door of a place of amusement. It was small and 
rather shabby. Two oil lamps flickered dimly over the little vestibule. 
A shabby man in his shirt-sleeves sat at the little window of the ticket- 
office, taking the tickets of the stream of plainly-dressed people who 
straggled in. He heard the weak scraping of an orchestra inside. It was 
not inviting, but it was pretty sure to be something distinctive, peculiar, 
very French. Weston felt in his pockets as his cigar went out, and 
walked up to the little window. 

^^Two francs, m’sieifr, for the best seats,” remarked the shabby 
man. 

Weston laid down his two francs, and threw his unlighted cigar 
out on the street. The shabby man scrambled quickly down, rushed 
into the street, and seized the cigar. 


20 


HALE-WESTON. 


Weston entered. It was just such a place as he expected. A row 
of candles sputtered along the stage for foot-lights. Half a dozen mu- 
sicians made doleful music out of as many violins, violas, a ’cello, and 
a drum. The house was pretty full, and presently the curtain went up. 
The play was a melodrama, — very impossible, very touching. The 
heroine, a tall, stout Jewess, was immensely applauded as she delivered 
her high-sounding lines with tragic emphasis. There were brigands in 
gorgeous if slightly- faded red jackets, and the whole thing hinged on 
the production of the chief brigand’s daughter; and it was all very 
tiresome to Henry Weston, although the audience applauded tremen- 
dously and evidently thought the stout Jewess a queen of the drama. 
He was considering, after half an hour’s experience, if he had not had 
enough of it, when the brigand’s daughter appeared on the stage, and 
he concluded to stay and see it out. 

She glided on almost unnoticed. She was slender and most grace- 
ful, and had soft lustrous black eyes, — Weston thought very like his 
mother’s : indeed, her type was somewhat like that of the elder beauty 
whom Weston in his heart of hearts admired. She had not much to 
say, but she said it in a sweet contralto very unlike the hard French 
voices of the other people on the stage. 

If Henry Weston had been asked what drew him to her insensibly, 
what made him stay in the little close theatre against his will, he could 
not have told to save his life. It is true Mademoiselle Varien, as the 
play-bill called her, was very pretty, graceful, ingenue ; but that is not 
uncommon on the stage. But the invisible bond was formed, and was 
strong enough to hold him. He stayed in until the very last. He 
could scarcely make up his mind to leave then, although nearly the 
whole audience had tramped out and it was almost midnight. The 
idea flashed on him that he might see her at the stage entrance. He 
rushed out, nearly upsetting the old woman who was })ottering around 
putting out the lights. Yes, there she was, coming swiftly out of the 
little blind alley by which the people went in and out of the back part 
of the theatre. She was wrapped up in a black cloak, and carried a 
bundle with one hand, while with the other she clutched an old crone 
who waddled along at her side. 

As she passed Henry Weston, involuntarily he raised his hat. She 
glanced at him in surprise for a moment, and, without noticing him 
further, went on and melted away in the darkness. Weston went home 
with a curious sensation. It was the first time he had been magnetized. 
He rather liked the feeling. He had heard of men falling in love with 
actresses. There was not much danger for him, he thought, as he 
stretched his legs before a blazing fire of fagots in his apartment. 
Fancy how his lady mother would take it if she should know that 
he had nearly broken his neck racing to see a pretty actress pass by ! 

Imagine his father’s disgust, Algy’s amused surprise Well, she 

was devilish pretty, and he meant to go to see" the bandit drama again. 
What a bewitching voice she had ! — how much more captivating was 
her graceful prettiness to him than Elizabeth Brandon’s stately beauty ! 
As for Anne, she had no heart : this girl looked tender and sympa- 
thetic ; and he kicked the blazing logs absent-mindedly with his boot, 


HALE-WESTON. 


21 


and went off into a delicious revery about nothing at all, — and did not 
get to bed till towards morning. 

Of course he went the next evening, and of course he continued to 
go, — so often that the man in his shirt-sleeves at the ticket-window 
came to know him well, — so often that he knew every word of the 
bandit play by heart and instinctively shuddered at certain points in 
the dialogue when he knew the stout Jewess would be applauded, — so 
often that it is exceedingly likely that Mademoiselle Yarien got to 
know exactly where to look for him. Are not all such cases precisely 
alike? 

So far it was mere stage infatuation ; but it began to trouble Henry 
Weston. The weakness of the strong is altogether different from 
the weakness of the weak. The principle of honor which in him was 
as strong as life itself might lead him to another sort of infamy, of 
discredit, of misery, from which the very want of honor might save 
another man. He was not given to trifling with his own feelings. He 
respected them greatly, — too much, perhaps. It was not easy to draw 
him against his will ; and so it vexed him to be everlastingly drawn to 
the shabby little theatre. 

He paltered with his judgment by making a merit of never seeking 
the acquaintance of the young creature who attracted him : he shut his 
eyes to the true reason, — the fear that he would be disillusioned. He 
might find her ten years older than he expected ; she would commit 
a thousand solecisms that would shock him, — he was indomitably fas- 
tidious about women, — and so he rather shrank from knowing her at 
close quarters. But he went to the little theatre every night. 

One evening, after dinner, when he had kept this up for about six 
weeks and was getting moody and angry with himself about it, he was 
loitering on towards the theatre, when suddenly he stopped as if he were 
shot. Right in the middle of the street before him stood the Chevalier 
Vaughan, — as handsome, as erect, as ever, his hair a little grayer, but 
not looking within fifteen years of his actual fifty years. The first 
sensation Weston always had on meeting the Chevalier was one of un- 
pleasant surprise ; but so far from home, and so suddenly, Weston for 
the first time in his life actually felt glad to meet him. 

The Chevalier shook him warmly by the hand. 

How well you are looking, my fine young friend !” said he, cor- 
dially. meant to hunt you up; but, faith ! here you are.^^ 

Weston’s face had flushed a little : he felt pleased, but only half 
pleased. 

“When did you leave Virginia, sir? and when did you see — ” he 
could not say “ my mother,” as he desired : he finished his sentence by 
saying, “my people at Hale- Weston ?” 

“ Only four weeks ago. I am just arrived in Paris. They gave 
me your address, and I would have found you out shortly. You are 
looking amazingly well. Paris is a pretty jolly kind of a place : deuced 
if I can keep away from it.” 

“ And was everybody well at Hale-Weston ? — my mother — ?” asked 
Weston, eagerly. 

“ Perfectly, — perfectly well. Toinette is grown immensely during 


22 


HALE- WESTON. 


the last- year, — almost up to her mother’s shoulder ; but she never can 
be as pretty as her mother. Your father about the same; your mother 
getting handsomer every day of her life; Algy a little gone on the 
pretty governess.” 

Weston laughed outright. The idea of Algy doing anything 
romantic and unpractical tickled him. 

‘‘I’ll write and warn him against her,” he laughed. “That will 
spur him up. She’s uncommonly good-looking, and if Algy wants to 
marry her I’m sure nobody can say anything against it. He will have 
enough to take care of her on.” 

“ Yes, he will. I don’t know of any two young fellows more in- 
dependent than you and Algy, But, tell me, what have you been doing 
with your time here ? When I am in Paris the days gallop away so 
fast that I can’t keep track of them. Gather ye roses, you know.” 

“ Well,” said Weston, “ I suppose it’s an idle kind of life to lead, 
but I came over here to enjoy myself. When I go home I mean to 
study law or go into politics, — try to be somebody ; but I have been 
— improving in the language. I thought it best to polish up my accent 
some before — continuing my travels ” 

“And going to the theatre, I’ll wager,” said the Chevalier, play- 
fully tapping Weston on the arm with the head of his little cane. It 
was a chance shot, but it hit the bull’s-eye. 

“ Yes,” replied Weston, laughing. “ In fact, I am on my way 
there now.” 

In an instant he regretted the admission. The Chevalier knew 
Paris like a book. He knew there were not many theatres in that part 
of the town calculated to attract a young man to whom better resorts 
were open. The Chevalier looked surprised, and said, “ Ah ?” lifting 
his eyebrows slightly. 

Weston was a little nettled at his manner. He thought perhaps the 
Chevalier might suppose he wanted to conceal where he was going. So, 
with an elaborate afiectation of ease which did not for a moment deceive 
the Chevalier, he said, — 

“ Won’t you go along with me ? It’s a two-franc entertainment : 
so I won’t beguile you into the belief that you are going to see any- 
thing particularly worth seeing.” 

“ Certainly,” said the Chevalier, with alacrity ; and he rapidly re- 
volved the last speech of Weston’s in his mind. Cheap, — not very 
good, — evidently familiar with the place; but one thing could take 
him, and that was a pretty girl. Well, there was no harm in that. 
The Chevalier was no ascetic, so he turned and walked along the narrow 
street with him. It was the first indication of any friendliness towards 
him on the part of Angela Weston’s handsome son. There had been 
a kind of still, guarded, unspoken enmity between them, — at least on 
Henry Weston’s part. For the Chevalier himself was of an open and 
generous nature, and took no notice of the young man’s haughty in- 
difference. He thought he knew what rankled in Henry Weston’s 
mind. But he was glad to be friendly with him. In his heart he 
thought him a manly fellow, with more brains than all the Westons he 
had ever known put together, not even excepting his bright-witted 


HALE- WESTON. 


23 


mother, and something — some remembrance of Angela Weston’s girlish 
days — drew him towards her boy. ^ He had her eyes, although his skin 
was tawny, and instead of her soft Greek mouth he had one broad and 
wide and full of strong white teeth ; and even in his full barytone the 
Chevalier caught a note of Angela’s delicate treble. So they walked 
on, and Weston felt his heart soften towards the Chevalier, he was so 
agreeable and full of life and vivacity without any of the flippancy of 
an old young man. Weston looked at him askance as they sauntered 
along, — at his well-knit figure and clear-cut face ; he could very well 
understand any woman falling in love with him. Then his heart gave 
a thump ; the Chevalier’s love-making was always a sore subject with 

him. That kiss on his mother’s hand 

The man in his shirt-sleeves looked surprised at seeing another man 
with his regular patron. Weston paid his four francs and walked in, 
followed by the Chevalier Vaughan, and presently the fiddles tuned up, 
and the absurd little overture was done, and the big Jewess came on. 

The Chevalier looked keenly about him. It would not have sur- 
prised him at all if Weston had been infatuated with the stout Hebecca 
or Sara. As like as not, he might think her the finest woman in the 
world. The Chevalier had the contempt of a man over forty for a 
young man’s taste. But half a glance at Weston’s expressive face 
while the big Jewess raved and stalked convinced the Chevalier that he 
was not yet on the right track. At last Mademoiselle Varien appeared. 
She wore a white frock, and had a bunch of lilies on her breast ; and 
the Chevalier with assumed surprise exclaimed to his companion, in 
English, — 

What an uncommonly pretty girl !” 

A blush of pleasure came into Weston’s dark face. He had thought 
her beautiful, but for a man of the world like the Chevalier Vaughan 
to be astonished at her loveliness showed it was something remarkable. 

I think she has a pretty voice,” said Weston, with a pretence of 
indifference that revealed the whole thing to his companion. 

Charming, — charming,” he replied, listening ; but it is scarcely 
a French voice: it is certainly not Parisian. Probably from Mar- 
seilles : the people there have soft voices like Italians.” 

Meanwhile, the play was going on. Mademoiselle Varien had 
only to move and speak occasionally. 

Not much dramatic ability,” thought the Chevalier, but he did not 
say that to Henry Weston. 

What an inane play !” said the latter, after a while. What is 
there for a man or woman of talent in this rubbish ?” 

It is remarkably well suited to the audience, though,” answered 
the Chevalier ; and after that they patiently waited out the play and 
went home together, and for the first time in his life Henry Weston of 
his own free will remained with the Chevalier. He insisted on return- 
ing to his own comfortable quarters, — the Chevalier was as yet at a 
hotel, — and they almost emptied the little lockers by the side of the 
fireplace where the wood was kept, — Weston’s landlady thought him 
the most recklessly extravagant young person in the matter of fuel she 
had ever known, — and had some genuine good whiskey, — no red wine 


24 


HALE-WESTON. 


for them, — and some of the strong black cigars they both loved were 
smoked before the blazing fire ; and before the Chevalier made his final 
move to go home, long past midnight, they had come to understand 
each other better than in all the years of their intercourse in the low- 
land county of Virginia. 

After that they saw each other often ; and the Chevalier said, one 
day, “ Now, really, Weston, you must go out a little into society. You 
ought to be presented to His Majesty : a terrible old bore His Majesty 
is, too, but it makes one a better republican to see these royalties occa- 
sionally.’^ 

Henry Weston, being young and eager to see and to know, agreed. 
So one evening he found himself in company with the Chevalier 
Vaughan in full dress driving towards the great palace of the Elysee, 
which was lighted up from ground to roof, and a vast crowd of nota- 
bilities swarming from their carriages and struggling in the genteel 
crush, and a long line of soldiers, and ushers in bright uniforms, and 
a glare of light and a blare of music above everything, — all very fine 
and very confusing to the young Virginia gentleman. Presently they 
were mounting the grand staircase. Henry Weston had taken a liberal 
dose of Dr. Franklin’s writings before trusting himself into this 
dazzling scene ; but he needed it all for the first few moments. He 
presently came to the great Salle du Trone, where, on a dais at the 
farther end, surrounded by officers in brilliant uniforms and gentlemen 
in court dress blazing with stars and orders, stood His Majesty Charles 
the Tenth, and his Savoyard queen, and the proud Duchesse de Berri, 
dressed in mourning, and half a dozen other royalties. Then His 
Majesty, short and looking like an avocat before the court of cassa- 
tion, walked around the circle and said something to each person 
present ; and when he came to the Chevalier Vaughan he stopped half 
a minute and asked him how affairs had gone in the United States 
since he last saw him. Henry Weston too came in for seven or eight 
words from the Lord’s anointed, and then the presentations were over 
and the grand ball began. 

The Chevalier seemed to know everybody, and everybody seemed to 
know the Chevalier. Henry Weston could not but admire his self- 
possessed and noble manner, — just what should be that of an American 
gentleman at a foreign court, — respectful of the customs sh^ound him, 
but distinctively American and republican. Nor did Henry Weston, 
with his frank and manly grace, his easy figure and handsome face, 
fail of attention ; and he was led up and introduced to numerous demure 
young ladies who took a turn with him in the waltzing that went on in 
the great picture-gallery. It must be confessed that Henry Weston 
was more on the alert for female beauty than for His Majesty and His 
Majesty’s royal brood. He wished to see if there were any women 
there as lovely as his mother or as Elizabeth Brandon. Anne he dis- 
missed from his mind as far as he could. She liad wounded both his 
heart and his self-love. Wounds of the latter kind are always hard to 
cure. So Anne Brandon was in disgrace with my lord, as those are 
apt to be who do not respond to the advances of the great. But no. 
There were some pretty rose-buds of girls; the elder beauties were 


HALE-WESTON. 


25 


stately and fall of the subtle suggestion of beauty ; but with a kind of 
triumph Henry Weston felt that not one had the liquid eyes, the fine, 
clear features, of the women he had left at home. To be sure, these 
last were undeniably beauties in their own circle ; but he felt a glow of 
pride that they should be beauties any- and everywhere. 

Then there was supper in a gorgeous, crowded saloon, and cham- 
pagne in plenty. The Chevalier Vaughan was button-holed at every 
turn, and received half a dozen invitations to dinner within Henry 
Weston^s hearing. His bearing and standing in that great-little world 
were not without their effect on his young companion. From a lifelong 
distrust of him Henry Weston began to feel a very sincere admiration 
of him ; and he was exceedingly kind to his young friend, — introducing 
him right and left as a Virginia gentleman on his travels, and by some 
occult method letting people know that he was a man of caste and 
standing in his own world. Rich and attractive young men are popu- 
lar every where, and Henry Weston had smiles from French, English, and 
American girls, and altogether it was a very gay and brilliant evening 
for him. When at last it was time to leave, and they found their car- 
riage, the Chevalier sprang in, but Henry Weston, bowing, said he 
would walk back to his lodgings, and, in spite of the Chevalier’s protest, 
Avent sauntering down the street, smoking. And what did he think of 
in that moonlit walk through the quiet side-streets to the Rue Lafitte ? 
Was it of those dainty French girls with their soft manners, those 
bejewelled women who are so dazzling to young men? No. It was of 
the little actress and the stuffy little theatre away across the bridges. 
Had she learned to look for him? Did she miss him that night? 
Ah, my young friend, depend upon it, you are in a bad way. 


CHAPTER V. 

Theke is a fraternity in this world — of which Mr. Brandon was a 
distinguished member — whose mission it is to give disagreeable warnings 
of unpleasant events to come. Therefore, when late one afternoon he 
rode over on his stylish cob to Hale- Weston and saw Algy Weston 
and Miss Fisher, little Toinette’s governess, walking through a glade 
in the park with their heads very close together, while little Toinette 
lagged twenty yards behind, Mr. Brandon pricked up his ears. Here 
was something to amuse Madam Weston. Mr. Brandon was going 
over to Hale-Weston to dinner by invitation, for, in spite of the guerilla 
warfare between the mistress of Hale-Weston and the master of Sparrow 
Point, they exchanged certain neighborly and conventional hospitalities. 
Mr. Brandon had never been able to fathom the exact state of affairs 
between his favorite daughter and Henry Weston. That something of 
a tender nature had occurred he was tolerably sure ; but he dismissed it 
from his mind with the reflection that Anne was always headstrong. 
He was quite sure that if his beautiful Elizabeth had been offered the 
hand of Henry Weston she would never have been so indiscreet as to 
refuse it ; but Anne — well, Anne was rash as Avell as headstrong. He 
found out, by some preternatural instinct, that there was an impression 


26 


HALE-WESTON. 


among the county people that Henry Weston had rather played fast 
and loose with Anne Brandon; for although Henry W'eston was a 
popular young man, he had a bold and outspoken w^ay with him, and 
he was too decided in his characteristics to escape enmities. He also 
was rather a conspicuous object of envy ; and if Henry Weston could 
have heard some of the comments made on him in regard to Anne 
Brandon, there would have been a few brgken bones in that vicinity, he 
being a hot-tempered young man and ugly in his moods. Only, he 
did not know. As for Anne, she was inscrutable. Mr. Brandon 
turned these puzzling questions over in his mind as he jogged along, and 
also the surprising fact that the beautiful Elizabeth had as yet made 
no matrimonial settlement. Then came the little incident about the 
pretty governess, and the prospect of creating a small hurricane raised 
Mr. Brandon’s spirits. He rode up to Hale-Weston through the well- 
kept grounds to the big mahogany door, and rapped smartly with the 
shining brass knocker. Hector, as usual, received him, and he was 
ushered into the familiar drawing-room, where Madam Angela, in a 
beautiful satin robe, was waiting to greet him. 

How d’ye do, madam ?” said Mr. Brandon, bending low over Mrs. 
Weston’s white hand, and, suddenly seeing his particular aversion, the 
Bev. Mr. Steptoe, in a corner, he straightened himself up, and, holding 
out two fingers, said, crossly, — 

“ How do ?” 

Mr. Steptoe came forward, and, giving Mr. Brandon’s fingers a 
negligent flip, replied, — 

“ How do?” 

Mrs. Weston smiled. She knew the two gentlemen hated each 
other, and she felt she had rather stolen a march on her neighbor by 
having the parson to meet him. The parson had been known to put 
Mr. Brandon to flight, horse, foot, and dragoons. 

And how do I find you to-day, my dear Madam Angela? — only 
the other day a little Angela not bigger than Toinette. Come here, my 
dear,” — to Toinette, who was a little, plain-looking thing. All this 
would have been very well, except that the Rev. Mr. Steptoe laughed, 
— a kind of guffaw that always set Mr. Brandon’s sensitive nerves on 
edge : 

Upon ray word, Brandon, you are getting more complimentary 
every year of your life. When I was a little boy and you were the 
most dashing young fellow in the county you didn’t pay half so many 
compliments ; — had more paid you, perhaps.” 

It irritated Mr. Brandon excessively to be called Brandon,” and 
especially by that great, hulking, card-playing, fox-hunting parson. So 
he replied, in his clear, sharp voice, — 

Pray pardon me, Steptoe, but when I was a young man I don’t 
think I had the pleasure of your acquaintance.” 

Oh, yes, you did,” replied the burly clergyman. Don’t you 
remember once going to the races at the Foxtown course, and your 
entering for the hurdle-race for gentlemen riders, and getting thrown in 
front of the grand stand, and — ha ! ha ! — my picking you up — you 
never weighed more than a feather — and carrying you off the track ?” 


HALE- WESTON. 


27 


Can’t say I do,” snarled Mr. Brandon ; but if there was any 
running at the Foxtown track you were pretty certain to be there.” 

Yes,” cheerfully returned the reverend gentleman, taking his 
coat-tails under his arm, and standing with his back to the fire, I like 
a good horse-race, — I always did, — and a good game of whist, and a 
decanter of good wine, and the light from woman’s eyes to guide us 
through this vale of tears.” 

‘‘ For my part,” replied Mr. Brandon, with freezing dignity, neither 
horse-races nor cards nor wine have the charm they once had. Only,” 
with a gallant bow to Mrs. Weston, who proposed to let them have it 
out while she enjoyed it, the light from woman’s eyes is as bright, as 
beautiful, to me as ever.” 

As Mr. Brandon was one of those men who had remained steadily 
impervious to the light of woman’s eyes during a considerable bachelorr 
hood and a longer widowerhood, Mrs. Weston felt convinced he was 
making game of the light of woman’s eyes : !5o she thought it well to 
change the subject. 

‘‘ Toinette,” she said, with alacrity, where is Miss Fisher?” 

I don’t know,” answered Toinette, diffidently. I got tired 
walking in the park, and she told me I might come home.” 

Mr. Brandon cackled at the dear child’s innocence : 

Ah, little Toinette, Miss Fisher was very agreeably engaged when 
she allowed you to come home alone. A remarkably handsome young 
woman Miss Fisher.” 

“With whom was Miss Fisher engaged?” asked Mrs. Weston, 
sharply. 

“ With Mr. Algernon Weston, madam,” answered Mr. Brandon, 
blandly. He thought he owed her something for letting the Bev. Mr. 
Steptoe browbeat him. 

“ Ah ?” said Mrs. Weston, unconcernedly. 

She had such sublime confidence in Algy’s commercial instinct that 
she felt no fear of Miss Fisher. If it had been Henry, now, she might 
have feared. 

Just then the door opened, and Algy walked in. He was distinct- 
ively the son of Sandy Weston, a little toned down, perhaps, and con- 
siderably polished up, but bone of Sandy Weston’s bone, and flesh of 
Sandy Weston’s flesh. His sallow complexion was a little flushed; he 
was rather a well-made young fellow, and had been drilled in etiquette 
by his mother. Therefore he appeared well when he entered the room 
and saluted his mother’s guests. 

“Ah, my young friend,” said Mr. Brandon, shaking his finger 
waggishly at Algy, “ it’s the second time I have seen you this afternoon. 
The first time you were very much engaged, — with a young lady.” 

Algy blushed up to the roots of his carefully-brushed hair : 

“ Well — er, — the fact was, I met Toinette and her governess ” 

Mr. Steptoe broke out into a jovial laugh : 

“No harm done, my fine young fellow. What better should you 
be doing than cultivating a pretty girl? By George, if any pretty 
girl notices me she don’t find fault with my not returning it — ha ! ha !” 

Algy beamed gratefully at him : he had always thought Mr. Bran- 


28 


HALE-WESTON. 


don an old curmudgeon, and now he knew it. To go and tell on him 
like that ! 

Like a great many other people with no inconsiderable amount of 
brains, Mrs. Weston was liable to form an hypothesis and make the 
facts fit it. She had assumed that her son Henry was particularly sus- 
ceptible to Miss Fisher^s charms, and that had been one reason why she 
was eager to get him off to Europe. Henry Weston had never looked 
at the governess twice, or thought of her at all except that she impressed 
him as rather obsequious and having a pair of very sharp and hungry 
eyes under her pretty eyebrows. The Madam had also rashly assumed 
that Algy was on a still hunt for money ; and a great deal had gone on 
under her very eyes between Master Algy and Miss Fisher, who was 
four or five years older than he. But she suddenly took alarm. 

Algy is forced to put up with substitutes, Mr. Brandon, when he 
can’t have Elizabeth’s society,” she said, with a faint smile. 

I don’t think,” said Mr. Brandon, taking a pinch of snuff with 
much deliberation, ^Hhat Algy cares a fig about Elizabeth’s society.” 
This was true ; but Algy had not had the nerve to come out and say so 
even privately to his mother. On the contrary, he was rather pleased 
at this subterfuge. ' 

You are mistaken, Mr. Brandon,” said he, — and suddenly stopped, 
for Miss Fisher had walked noiselessly into the room, and might have 
heard the little discussion. Her eyes were blazing and her cheeks - 
flushed. Mrs. Weston, not displeased to find fault, gave a start: 

How you frighten one. Miss Fisher ! creeping in like that !” 

Miss Fisher responded very humbly, I will try to announce my 
arrival in future, Mrs. Weston.” Then the gentlemen rose and shook 
hands with her. 

Both of them observed that Algy Weston looked a little sheepish. 
Mr. Steptoe despised him for his want of spirit in not speaking up for 
the woman he was accused of admiring, and Mr. Brandon despised him 
for not having wit enough to get out of it. As for Mrs.^ Weston, the 
scales fell from her eyes : she saw Algy’s constraint, and she called 
herself a fool. 

It shall not go any further, at least,” she thought to herself. I 
will dismiss her at midsummer.” She was too practical a woman to 
organize a persecution against Miss Fisher. 

Then Mr. Weston shambled in, and dinner was announced, and 
Mr. Steptoe gallantly offered his arm to Toinette, allowing Mr. Brandon 
the privilege of carrying Mrs. Weston in ; and, Miss Fisher throwing 
a look half of entreaty and half of command at Algy, that young 
gentleman offered her his arm shyly, and Mr. Weston got along with- 
out anybody. Nobody in that house took any particular notice of Mr. 
Weston, except his son Henry when he was at home, who treated him 
with scrupulous respect. At the dinner-table the admirable menu — 
Mrs. Weston was a famous housekeeper — and some of the dead-and- 
gone Colonel Weston’s glorious old port put both Mr. Brandon and 
Mr. Steptoe in high good humor. They forgot their ancient enmity, 
and the parson, doing as he would be done by, looked another way 
when Mr. Brandon filled his glass, — which was not seldom. Even 


29 


HALE-WESTON. 

« 

Algy Weston^s sallow face flushed a little, and he essayed some small 
attentions to Miss Fisher, inspired with Dutch courage; for in those 
days gentlemen were allowed to be jovial at table. Sandy Weston ate 
his dinner and drank his wine in silence : he was anxious to be through 
and get back to his everlasting account-books. Both Mrs. Weston and 
Miss Fisher had a glass or two of rich old port, and certainly the color 
deepened in Mrs. Westoifs fair face, and she renewed her determination 
to get rid of Miss Fisher at the end of the quarter. 

After dinner they all returned to the drawing-room, and the card- 
table was brought out. Mr. Weston had disappeared. 

“ Who will play ? Who will play cried the parson, bustling round 
and rubbing his hands. He always looked forward to whist at Hale- 
Weston. Mrs. Weston was a superb player, and so was Mr. Brandon. 

‘‘ You and I, Mrs. Weston, he shouted, — no cutting for partners, 
— and Brandon — Mr. Brandon, I mean, dash it, and 

Miss Fisher,’’ suggested Mrs. Weston, in a tone very discouraging 
to Miss Fisher. That young lady, who seemed trained never to as- 
sert herself, promptly disclaimed any desire to play : Oh, I couldn’t, 
really. With such splendid players ! I should be frightened to death !” 
And, continuing to refuse with some eagerness, Mrs. Weston coldly re- 
marked, — 

We will excuse you.” 

Miss Fisher then seized Toinette and carried her off* to French verbs. 
After this, of course, Algy had to take the fourth place. The cards 
were shuffled and dealt. Mr. Steptoe lay back the picture of genuine 
content. He had had a good dinner and a royal decanter of wine, and 
he was set down to cards, which he adored, with a pretty woman who 
was likewise an admirable whist-player, — and this last was much. Mr. 
Steptoe was by no means insensible to the charm of winning those little 
piles of gold dollars which in those days lay on every whist-table, by 
the side of every player, whether man or woman. And then Hector 
had just brought in a big bowl, supplemented by an earthen pitcher full 
of apple toddy, which he put on the hearth, close up to the polished 
brass andirons, and tenderly nursed to keep it warm. 

Mr. Brandon was not so happy. He had doubts of Algy’s whist- 
playing, and would much rather have been in his own library at Sparrow 
Point just then, with his intimate friend and closest companion Hora- 
tius Flaccus. The playing began. Mrs. Weston led off* in her usual 
fine style, and soon cornered Algy, who lost his nerve, played wildly, 
and finally threw away the rubber by forcing out all the trumps for 
nothing and letting Mr. Steptoe make seven small diamonds running. 
Mr. Brandon laid down his cards in a cold rage. 

Young man,” said he, severely, ^^do you call this whist-playing? 
I insist upon knowing.” 

I d — do, sir,” stammered Algy, who had a little impediment in 
his speech which always came out when he was frightened. And the 
courage that came from the port wine was all gone, while the apple 
toddy hadn’t come on. 

Algernon is a most dreadful player,” remarked Mrs. Weston, 
calmly. He has no judgment.” 


30 


HALE-WESTON. 


Not a bit,” fervently added Mr. Brandon. 

Poor Algy by this time was almost in tears. 

Ha ! ha !” laughed Mr. Steptoe, here’s a pretty quarrel in my 
parish. Brandon, give it to him. Algy, be a man. Don’t be cowed, 
boy. Why, God bless my soul, there is the apple toddy boiling over I 
Hector ! Hector !” 

Hector had dropped oif into the cat-nap which the African is ever 
prone to take, but at this stentorian call he jumped two feet in the air, 
and, before he opened his eyes, bawled, Yessir !” Then, running as fast 
as his dignity as major-domo would permit, he seized the earthen pitcher 
and poured the decoction into the great India china bowl. A delicious 
steam arose which filled the room with its fragrance. Mr. Steptoe 
sniifed vigorously. Mr. Brandon, though, was too cross, driven thereto 
by Algy’s whist-playing, even to look at the punch-bowl, although he 
submitted to accepting a punch-can full from Hector’s urgent solicita- 
tion, and then had it filled five times successively. Mr. Steptoe, in his 
favorite attitude with his back to the fire, kept Hector busy with the 
ladle. Algy went and sat by Mr. Brandon, sipping his toddy cau- 
tiously. Mr. Brandon complained of a stricture of the throat which 
kept him from enjoying his apple toddy, yet managed to consume as 
much as anybody. 

I’ll tell you what it is,” remarked Mr. Steptoe, with a wink. 
What’s the matter with your throat, Brandon, is, your palate’s 
down.” 

Pish !” answered Mr. Brandon. Palate’s down ! I did not 
think there was any man in Virginia, or anywhere else for that matter, 
who would believe in that old superstition. My tonsils are enlarged. 
How can a man’s palate be down when his palate is never up?” 

Just let me take a look,” urged Mr. Steptoe. 

“ No,” answered Mr. Brandon, curtly. 

^^Some people,” remarked Mrs. Weston, smiling a little wickedly, 
are nervous about small ailments.” 

Sirrah,” said Mr. Brandon to Hector, bring a candle here. Now, 
Steptoe,” — Mr. Brandon was careful never to put a prefix to Mr. Step- 
toe’s name, — come and look your fill. See where my palate’s gone 
to, and, damme, sir, bring it up, if it hasn’t dropped out of sight.” 

Mr. Brandon stretched his mouth wide, and Mr. Steptoe, his fore- 
head all puckered up, examined carefully the chasm, while Hector, 
holding the candle, peered anxiously over his shoulder. 

I see what it is,” triumphantly exclaimed Mr. Steptoe. Sneer 
if you choose, your palate’s down, — enlarged, and down farther than it 
ought to be.” 

Marse George,” said Hector earnestly to Mr. Brandon, ef yo’ 
palate’s down, ’tain’t nuttin’ gwi’ do you no good, ’sensin’ ’tis h’istin’ 
it up by de palate-lock of yo’ h’yar, on top o’ yo’ hade. Las’ week I 
done drawed up de palates ob nine o’ de cullud chillen on dis heah 
Hale- Weston plantation. De sutny is suppin’ in de ar roun’ about 
heah dat makes folks’ palates fall. Sometimes I c’yarn pull hard 
enough on de palate-lock, an’ I has ter git a leetle stick, an’ wrop de 
h’yar roun’ it, an’ twis’ an’ twis’. Dat brings hit up, sho’.” 


HALE-WESTON. 31 

Mr. Brandon put down his punch-can and critically surveyed 
Hector. 

By all means/’ he remarked, sardonically, try that enlightened 
method on me. Get the leetle stick, if you choose, and, as soon as you 
locate the lock, twist it until the palate comes up or my head comes 

Marse George, I kin see de very lock stannin’ up on yo’ hade.” 

That simplifies things still more,” calmly observed Mr. Brandon. 
Go ahead.” 

That anybody should for a moment take him seriously never 
dawned upon Mr. Brandon ; but Hector, being of a literal turn, and 
moreover anxious to show his skill before white folks, unexpectedly 
reached over and seized a lock of hair on the crown of Mr. Brandon’s 
head, and apparently, with the first pull, he found the top of Mr. 
Brandon’s head in his hand. The master of Sparrow Point wore a 
‘^scratch,” wnich matched exactly the rest of his hair and the silvery 
whiteness of his moustache. It was an ornament whose existence was 
unsuspected by his nearest friends, so well had art supplanted nature. 
Mrs. Weston gave a little scream ; Mr. Steptoe roared with laughter; 
but Hector, turning the ghastly ash color which terror produces in the 
blackest negro, glanced at the appalling object in his hand, shrieking. 
Good Gord A’mighty! I done tore he hade off!” and dashed madly 
out of the nearest door. I gwi’ fur de doctor I” he panted as he 
ran. I gwi’ fotch Doc’ Peyton !” 

You infernal scoundrel,” thundered Mr. Brandon after him, 'H’ll 
pay you for this !”^ 

Meanwhile, he had jumped up and was lunging»wildly around after 
his wig. Mrs. Weston had caught it as it fell. 

“ Here it is,” she said, soothingly. 

Mr. Brandon snatched it, clapped it awry on his head, and, glaring 
at the reverend gentleman, who ha-ha’d as if he would explode, and% 
at Algy, who feebly echoed the clergyman’s deep-chested laugh, turned 
to Mrs. Weston. For once his temper got the better of him : 

When next you invite me to Hale-AVeston, madam, inform me if 
that clerical jackanapes is to be present, and I’ll decline, madam. I 
wish you a very good evening.” And he made a bee-line for the door. 

^^Algy, Algy, run and apologize; have his horse got for him,” 
cried Mrs. Weston, wiping her eyes. And Algy hurried after him. ^ 

Mr. Steptoe redoubled his guffaw. 

^^Mr. Steptoe,” said Mrs. Weston, laughing, but trying to look 
grave, ‘Wou shouldn’t have laughed.” 

I didn’t laugh, ma’am, any more than you did. It was Hector’s 
excess of zeal.” 

Quite true. I can lay it all on Hector.” • 

Mr. Steptoe, still chuckling, rose and made a final assault on the 
punch-bowl, and then, buttoning up his coat, bade Mrs. Weston good-by, 
assuring her of his delightful evening, and desiring to be remembered to 
Mr. Weston, — a ceremony he never omitted. 

When he had gone, Mrs. Weston remained seated before the fire, 
thinking not of Mr. Brandon nor of Mr. Steptoe, but of her son Alger- 


32 


HALE- WESTON. 


non. Something must be done, and done at once. Of course it would 
be useless to say anything to Miss Fisher. “ An artful minx, she would 
like nothing better than for me to turn her out of doors,’’ thought Mrs. 
Angie, snapping her small white teeth. With Algy something might be 
done : a threat to leave him out of his father’s will would be pretty sure 
to bring him round, and Algy knew well enough that Mr. Weston’s 
testamentary intentions would be strictly supervised by Mrs. Weston. 
Yes, she would wait for Algy and talk to him. 

After half an hour Algy sauntered back. He had been lulled into 
fancied safety. He thought his mother had not noticed anything. So, 
when he opened the door and saw her yellow drapery floating over the 
sofa, he had an unpleasant turn. 

‘‘Algy,” said Mrs. Weston, “come here. I want to speak with 
you.” 

Had it been that cherished elder son, she would have said, sweetly, 
“ My son, come to your mother : she desires to speak with you for your 
own good and happiness but Algy was plain Algy, and soft speech 
was wasted on him. 

“ It seems to me,” said his mother, turning towards him as he seated 
himself awkwardly astride of a chair, “that you have been somewhat 
attentive to Miss Fisher.” 

Algy cleared his throat. 

“ Well, mother,” he said, after a pause, “ I have.” 

“ And do you think it the proper thing for a young man in your 
position to pay attentions to a girl you can never marry? — a hired 
employee of your mother’s house ?” 

Mrs. W’^eston stt bolt upright now. She had chosen to put it on 
that ground, because she was very careful not to put him on the de- 
fensive as regarded Miss Fisher ; for Algy, although not a first-class 
specimen, was yet a man. 

# “ But, mother,” said Algy, looking around, “ I can marry her if I 

^ant to.” 

“ You forget, Algy, her position.” 

“ No, I don’t,” answered Algy, stoutly. “ She is a lady as much 
as — as much as anybody.” 

“ But if the match were not agreeable to me and your father it 
would make an entire difference in the disposition of the property 
between Henry and yourself.” 

This seemed to strike Algy. He meditated for a moment or two. 

“ But Henry may not marry to suit you either’” he said, at last. 

“ Impossible !” said his mother, proudly. “ I doubt not there is an 
understanding between Henry and Anne Brandon. She is not rich, 
but she herself is unexceptionable ; and I had hoped, Algernon, that 
y#u might fancy Elizabeth.” 

For the first time Algy showed some spirit ; 

“ Good God, mother ! I wouldn’t marry Elizabeth Brandon if she 
had a mint of money.” 

“And why not, pray, my young cockatoo? She is beautiful, — 
twice as good-looking as Miss Fisher.” 

“ That’s so,” said Algy, doggedly, “ but I can’t stand Elizabeth. 


HALE- WESTON. 


33 


She talks too much, and works fancy-work all the time, and, what 
with studying her own good looks and laying traps to get married, she 
has no time for anything else. And besides,^^ he continued, shuffling 
his feet awkwardly, and blustering a little, b-b-believe she wants to 
marry me ; and that,’^ said simple Algy, quite solemnly, is what I 
can’t abide !” 

At that unpropitious moment Miss Fisher suddenly stood before 
Mrs. Weston. She had entered in the silent way peculiar to her. 

I hope,” she said, in a low voice, that I am mistaken in supposing 
that I am the subject of dispute between you.” 

You are mistaken,” said Mrs. Weston, coolly. We were having 
no dispute, — only an amicable discussion, in which your name, I must 
confess, occurred incidentally. I was advising my son to pay his 
addresses to Elizabeth Brandon.” 

But he can’t,” said Miss Fisher, holding up her head very proudly. 

^^And pray why not?” asked Mrs. Weston, with corresponding 
haughtiness. 

Tell her, Algy,” demanded Miss Fisher. 

Algy got up and sat down again. He looked very miserable. 

Now, don’t, Maria,” he said, imploringly. You don’t know my 
mother. It wouldn’t do to tell her all at once.” Poor Algy was so 
scared he did not know what he was saying. 

It is not necessary,” said Mrs. Weston, coldly. Your own tone 
tells all. I think I may mention to you, as I did to my son, that the 
marriage not being agreeable to either myself or Mr. Weston, it will 
make a very great difference in the division of the property.” 

I can’t help that,” said Algy, coming into the conversation. ^H’ve 
promised Miss Fisher to marry her, and I’m going to do it.” 

Miss Fisher’s face brightened. 

You are over age,” replied Mrs. Weston, looking straight at him. 

You know all the disadvantages. There is some years’ difference be- 
tween you, I think. Miss Fisher is probably seven years your senior.” 

“ Only two,” said Miss Fisher, turning very red. 

Very well,” responded Mrs. Weston. In making your arrange- 
ments, however, remember that a continued residence at Hale- Weston 
is out of the question.” 

“ I know,” said Miss Fisher, “ that you may have had other plans for 
Algernon. I don’t know a word that you have uttered, but I suspect 
that you have mentioned to him that it was unbecoming to pay me 
secret attentions and to have a secret understanding between us.” 

You could not have guessed better had you overheard every 
word,” replied Mrs. Weston, with sarcastic emphasis, taking up her 
fan and fanning herself 

Yet,” said Miss Fisher, in a very humble manner, ^^you were not 
only secretly erlgaged, but almost married before your parents knew 
of it.” ’ 

Could this be Miss Fisher? Mrs. Weston examined her critically. 
The transformation was calculated to stagger her. 

Algernon,” said Mrs. Weston, I wish to resume our interrupted 
conversation in my dressing-room.” 

VoL. XLIII.— 3 


34 


HALE- WESTON. 


And/^ continued Miss Fisher, ignoring Mrs. Weston^s ignoring 
of Jiery you probably brought it up that in marrying me he would be 
marrying beneath his position.” 

I should not have alluded to that fact to you,” said Mrs. Weston, 
with chill politeness, “ but, since you yourself have surmised it, I did 
make that observation to my son.” 

That is inconsistent of you, Mrs. Weston,” said Miss Fisher, 
letting an accent of something like triumph into her tone. Your own 

marriage was ” Here she stopped. Even Miss Fisher could go 

no farther. 

Mrs. Weston rose majestically. “Algernon,” she said, “I must 
request you to open the door for me. I do not care to remain longer 
the target for insolence in my own house. When you are as old as 
Miss Fisher you will probably condemn it as much as I do now.” 

Algy rose and obediently opened the door. Mrs. Weston sailed out, 
her yellow silk train rustling after her, her beautiful proud head a 
little higher than usual. Surely Miss Fisher did not look exactly of 
the same clay as her loveFs mother. 

Algy closed the door carefully, and, coming back to his affianced, 
said, in a tone half frightened and half amused, — 

“ YouVe done it this time, sure.” 

“ I have,” responded Miss Fisher, suddenly dropping her humble 
tone for one rather arrogant, — everybody bullied poor Algy, — “ and I 
don’t think she’ll ever raise any of those same objections to me again.” 


CHAPTEE VI. 

And how fared it with Anne Brandon in those days ? 

Happily for her, she had a stubborn pride that kept the world from 
knowing how very deep a wound she had received when Henry Weston 
went away. Mrs. Thorpe declared she had always known that Anne 
did not care a pin about Henry Weston, and thought she detected 
symptoms of a mutual falling in love between Anne and Algy. The 
kind old doctor, who saw farther through his big gold spectacles than 
anybody in the neighborhood, had suspected that Anne suffered a good 
deal at the very time that she treated Henry Weston most cavalierly; 
but when he had been gone six months the doctor concluded, much to 
his own satisfaction, that it was all a mistake : Anne’s steady cheerful- 
ness was against his first supposition. 

She had more trouble in keeping her secret from her father than 
from anybody else. If Mr. Brandon loved anything on earth, it was 
his youngest daughter. With all his faults of temper, and his reck- 
less tongue, he was more companionable to her than Elizabeth, with 
her vapid gravity, and dear old Miss Pryor, who had long ago given 
Anne up as a problem too deep for her. Why Anne was not satisfied 
to do fancy-work, and would insist upon superintending the making of 
the negroes’ clothes, when there was Joanna, the head seamstress, to 
do it. Miss Pryor couldn’t imagine. But Anne, by tact and wariness, 
concealed even from her father what Henry Weston was to her. 


RALE- WESTON. 


35 


I had hoped once to see you play the fool, my dear,” he said, 
just to round out my theory that human nature always does play the 
fool whenever it has a chance. But you didn’t.^^ 

You need by no means despair,” replied Anne. I dare say I 
shall live to play the fool many times yet, as I have done in the past.” 
And she laughed with such a wholesome appreciation of the wish that 
Mr. Brandon set it down as certain that Henry Weston was consider- 
ably the more scorched of the two. 

But to Anne no such belief was possible. Whatever she might 
have wished, or tried to think, the pain she endured when Henry 
Weston was really gone, the blackness of the days that followed, made 
known to her her own heart. But despair has no real hold on a healthy 
young person of twenty-one. Anne hated herself one moment that she 
could not forget him, and then felt prouder of loving him than of any- 
thing in the world. Women are naturally learned in the secrets of the 
heart. She knew that she could easily have drawn Henry Weston into 
an offer before he left ; and she knew, without reasoning, that it would 
not have made her happy. 

“ No,” she said to herself, if he could refrain, it is better that he 
has refrained ; and some time — some day — he will perhaps realize tlie 
feeling that made me let him go rather than lift a hand to hold him 
back.” 

And then came the sudden news of Algy and Miss Fisher, and 
the commotion it raised can better be imagined than described. 

One snowy afternoon, soon after the announcement had been made, 
and when the whole county was as yet in a turmoil to know what Mrs. 
Weston meant to do about it, Mrs. Weston took horse — for she still rode 
as often and as tirelessly as any girl in the county — and put out to 
Sparrow Point. It was now early in December. Henry Weston 
had been gone nearly seven months, and the Chevalier Vaughan four 
or five. The latter was expected back every day. 

In those seven months these two women, who both loved and ad- 
mired Henry Weston more than any human being in the world, had 
got closer to each other than either would have imagined. Between 
them there had been Always a liking, an admiration, and a certain simi- 
larity of taste. Mrs. Weston, although the pleasures and the splendors 
and the amusements of life had a stronger hold on her than anything 
else, yet had naturally a good understanding, and had improved it. 
Anne Brandon was the only woman of her near acquaintance to whom 
she was not superior in sense and education. But Mrs. Weston, being 
a liberal woman, in spite of a good many shortcomings, so far from 
liking her less for that, rather liked her better. Anne, too, felt that 
Mrs. Weston was about the only one of her female friends who did 
not take away more than was rendered in return. The turns and twists 
in Mrs. Weston’s character very often aroused surprise and disapproval 
on the part of the clear and straightforward Anne ; but Mrs. Weston 
was not without fascination for women as well as for men. Anne 
could not but feel flattered that this woman, who had seen so much and 
possessed so much, and who made no secret of her contempt for a mean 
understanding, should court her, as it were. Then, she was Henry 


36 


HALE-WESTON. 


Weston’s mother; and, whatever might be said of her tergiversations, 
her devotion to him could not but redeem her. So Anne and Mrs. 
Weston were drawn together by many things, the strongest bond being 
the invisible one. 

Anne ran out on the snow-covered porch and met Mrs. Weston as 
she jumped lightly off her horse : 

What a real mercy this is ! Papa and Elizabeth have gone to the 
Wickhams’, Miss Pryor can hardly speak, she is so hoarse, and here I 
am, tired of my own company and longing for somebody else’s.” 

Mrs. Weston smiled, and suffered herself to be led into the draw- 
ing-room. 

Sparrow Point was by no means the noble manor that Hale- Wes- 
ton was. The house was low and rather shabby ; the furniture was 
neither modern nor abundant, but Anne had a knack of arranging the 
spindling chairs, and draping the faded curtains, and keeping good fires, 
that gave an air of comfort to the whole. 

Mrs. Weston sighed deeply, settled herself in the corner of the 
sofa nearest the blaze, and began : 

Anne, isn’t this dreadful? — about Algy, I mean.” 

Anne’s face was a study : a smile would come into the corners of 
her mouth, which, together with one that could not be kept out of 
Mrs. Weston’s eyes, quite destroyed her gravity. It was impossible to 
regard Algy and Miss Fisher seriously. She could not help laughing, 
nor Mrs. Weston help joining her. 

^^Dear Mrs. Weston, I know it’s a disappointment to you; but 
parents are so seldom pleased with their children’s choice.” 

It was very commonplace, but she could not think of anything else 
to say. There was nothing against Miss Fisher, really, except her 
want of fortune ; and Anne would scarcely treasure that up against 
her. And, besides, thought Anne, Algy was a very ordinary fellow. 

Mrs. Weston’s laugh soon died away. It had not much merriment 
in it. 

It’s exasperating : you’ll allow that.” 

^^Yery,” said Annie, heartily. I know of nothing more exas- 
perating than two persons falling in love with each other without a 
shadow of right, except where two persons who ought to fall in love 
with each other positively refuse to. And such iniquity is, unfor- 
tunately, too common.” 

Luckily,” remarked Mrs. Weston, I did not come over here to 
be soothed and comforted. I wanted the common-sense view of the 
thing to help to reconcile me to it. Mrs. Thorpe has quoted Scripture 
to me and condoled with me until I came very near ordering her out 
of the house; and those foolish Wickham girls made me a special 
visit to show me a dozen disadvantages in the match I had never 
thought of before. The idiots !” 

Algy might easily have fallen in love with one of the Wickhams, 
—and then you would have had the three sisters at Hale- Weston all 
the time, and Mary would have played on the piano, and Emma and 
Janet would have examined every article in the Hale- Weston house a 
dozen times a day.” 


HALE-WESTON 37 

Quite true. Even Miss Fisher — I call her Maria now, — -just 
think of it, Anne ! — at least has no sisters.” 

“ What are they to do after they are married ?” 

Live at Hale- Weston. Upon reflection I agreed to it temporarily. 
When I found Algy was really determined, I concluded not to throw 
away all influence over him and leave him wholly to Maria, — the little 
sly thing : so I told them they might stay anyway until my son Henry 
comes home ; and they were delighted. Algy hated to move, and Maria 
longs to go visiting with me in the coach-and-four. But I am deter- 
mined she shan’t have it to return her wedding visits in, as she certainly 
expects. She shall go in the chaise.” 

Anne smiled : If I countenanced the match I wouldn’t stop at 
the coach. I would let her have it.” 

“No, she shall have nothing but the chaise. You don’t know 
Maria.” 

“Bad as it is,” continued Mrs. Weston, after a little pause, “it 
might be so much worse. It might have been Henry. Think what 
that would have been to me ! You know, I formed no great expecta- 
tions for Algy ; but what mother with a son like my son Henry would 
not be ambitious for him ? And, Anne, I know him so well that I 
don’t fear for him. Is not that comfortable? Henry has such ex- 
traordinary good sense I rather fear that his high ideal of marriage 
and his exacting taste will cause him to remain single much longer 
than I could wish.” 

A faint color stole in Anne’s cheeks. “ If Henry does anything 
unbecoming, I should be much surprised,” she answered, quite natu- 
rally. 

Mrs. Weston cast a keen look on Anne. Was it possible that this 
girl had treated Henry Weston’s advances lightly? No, it could not 
be. And how well satisfied Mrs. Weston would be if, some day, Anne 
should be the next daughter-in-law ! Maria should feel the difeence 
then, and would have to pack, and the coach-and-four should be for 
returning the wedding visits. 

Mrs. Weston had lately received a letter from her son. He was not 
quite ready to begin his tour on the Continent. The French girls were 
very pretty, but not so handsome as his mother. He wanted to know 
how the Sparrow Point people were, and was Anne as gay as ever ? He 
thought Algy’s marriage a very good thing if it suited Algy, and his 
father and mother must make the best of it. It wouldn’t do to be hard 
on poor Miss Fisher. People in the county would think it was because 
she had no money ; and that w^ould be mortifying, as well as unjust. 
He sent his new sister-in-law a present by the Chevalier Yaughan. He 
had carried his mother’s orders to a modiste, and the chest would go 
under the Chevalier’s charge. She would find in it a miniature of 
himself, painted by Isabey. It was much better-looking than he was, 
as Nancy Brandon would certainly say. There was also a fan apiece 
for the Brandons. Anne’s he had selected himself. He was not 
certain whether he would stay two years that time. Sometimes he 
thought he would return to Virginia in the spring and spend the summer, 
going back to Europe in the fall. French politics were very interesting : 


38 


HALE-WESTON. 


the king had never got over the Duke de Berries death ; the ministry 
was unpopular, etc., etc., Mrs. Weston had never received a more satis- 
factory letter. If he did come home in the spring, instead of staying 
another year, it did not matter. The expense was of no moment. And 
when could Henry Weston’s home-coming be anything else than joy to 
her ? 

It was almost dusk when she left. She told Anne the visit had 
cheered her up. After all, Algy might have annoyed her a great deal 
more. The visit, too, had brightened Anne. When she returned to 
the drawing-room she felt so gay she went to the piano-forte and sang. 
She had a clear soprano, and sang ballads very well. Miss Pryor, who 
came in the room, was quite pleased to see her so full of spirits. Anne 
ran and got her footstool and settled her comfortably, and made her 
laugh by a description of Mrs. Weston’s visit. That night when she 
looked in the glass she smiled at the reflection. Her cheeks were actu- 
ally getting round and rosy, and she had had a very pleasant evening, 
although Miss Pryor had hardly said two words, and she had been 
reduced to the cat for company. 


CHAPTER VII. 

Of course Henry Weston tried flight. He went to London and 
remained — nine days, trying to forget Mademoiselle Varien. Of course, 
also, the first night he came back to Paris he went to the little theatre, 
and, in his joy at getting back, threw a louis-d’or to the ticket-seller 
instead of two francs, and gave the old woman who showed him his 
place a five-franc piece. 

All this time he had not once seen, or tried to see, his inamorata, 
except as she left the theatre. The fact was, he was afraid. But fate 
seemed determined to do Mademoiselle Varien a good turn, and led 
Henry Weston’s steps to her. One morning he found himself almost 
by accident in the neighborhood of the theatre. A little glove-shop 
with a flowering acacia showing through the polished glass door attracted 
him. He wanted some gloves : so he turned the knob and went in. 
A little bell tinkled as he opened the door. A young woman arose 
from a seat at the end of the tidy little place. Her back was to the 
light. Scarcely had the young man realized that she had a neat figure 
dressed in a plain brown gown, when she got near enough for him to 
see she was Mademoiselle Duval, — or rather Mademoiselle Varien, for 
he did not then even know her name. 

What will Monsieur have ?” she asked, in a pleasant voice. 

A shock of pleased surprise thrilled through Henry Weston. She 
worked in the daytime as well as at night. She must then be good ; 
and she was certainly young and very, very pretty. He was so con- 
fused for a moment with the unexpected meeting that he lost his self- 
possession : he could only murmur, Gloves.” 

Mademoiselle Varien took down a box from the counter and in 
a business-like way opened it. Something in her quiet, entirely- 
at-home manner suggested to Henry Weston’s mind that he might 


HALE- WESTON. 


39 


be mistaken : surely this conventional Parisian woman of business 
was not Mademoiselle Varien of the Th^tre Bourbon. He was not 
naturally a coward, and when his courage returned it came back in 
force. 

‘‘ Pardon, mademoiselle,” he asked, after he had selected and paid 
for two pairs of gloves : “ may 1 ask if you are not Mademoiselle 
Yarien of the Th^^tre Bourbon?” 

Mademoiselle Varien showed very nice teeth in a smile : 

Yes, monsieur. I play the part of Ang4lique in ^ The BandiPs 
Adventures.’ ” 

Pardon again, mademoiselle : you must be very industrious to 
work all day as well as half the night.” 

“ One must live, monsieur ; and the salaries at the Th^^tre Bourbon 
are so small ! But 1 do not work here regularly. I lodge over the 
shop, and two days in the week Madame goes out, and gets me to stay 
until she returns. I am always glad to stay. It is more cheerful here 
than in my apartment.” 

The typical Frenchwoman is explicit in answering questions. 

I have seen you very often at the Th^tre Bourbon, mademoiselle, 
and admired your performance much.” 

Mademoiselle smiled again with pleasure. Henry Weston had come 
to the end of his resources for continuing the conversation. He thought 
it would be impertinent for him to stay longer : so, taking his gloves, 
and making a very low bow, he retired, taking care to remain uncovered 
until the little shop door clanged behind him. 

He walked home in an ecstasy. He had found out that she was 
beautiful, and he had also found out — conclusively, so he thought — that 
she was good. Perhaps she had an old mother to support, or a young 
sister to educate, that she worked so hard for. Beautiful charity ! 
Before Henry Weston got to his lodgings he had found indications 
of every virtue in Mademoiselle Varien. 

He continued to go to the Th^^tre Bourbon, and every night he 
feasted Jiis eyes on Mademoiselle Varien. One night, as he watched 
her coming out of the blind alley on her way home after the perform- 
ance, he saw she was alone. The old crone was not with her. He was 
taken by surprise, and not until she passed did he curse himself for an 
idiot in not offering to take her home, — which to his honest mind ap- 
peared perfectly legitimate and proper. He lay awake half the night 
swearing at himself for letting that friendless beautiful young tiling 
walk unprotected through the streets of Paris at niglit. It never 
occurred to him that Mademoiselle Varien was quite able to take care 
of herself. 

The next night he was promptly on hand at the theatre entrance, 
and when she came out alone he went up, and, taking off his hat, 
asked in his very best French if, as she was alone, he might have the 
pleasure of protecting Mademoiselle as far as her own door. 

Mademoiselle stopped, stared, hesitated, and finally consented. He 
offered her his arm, which Mademoiselle declined. This, Henry 
Weston thought a charming piece of delicacy. Then he had to find 
conversation. 


40 


HALE- WESTON. 


Mademoiselle, we ought to be good friends. I am an American. 
The French and Americans were always good friends.^^ 

Yes,^^ said Mademoiselle, not understanding in the least his inter- 
national allusion. 

What a beautiful city Paris is was the next brilliant remark 
Henry Weston hazarded. 

Charming,’’ replied Mademoiselle*. How long have you been in 
Paris ?” 

Eight months, mademoiselle. I saw you first at the Theatre 
Bourbon more than six months ago.” 

Yes,” again responded Mademoiselle. 

Henry Weston soon found enough to talk about, but his companion 
was very quiet. She really did not understand him at all. Something 
in his eye and manner conveyed to her the deep respect in which he 
held her. She knew she was doing something which the average 
French girl would consider inadmissible, and the average French 
actress a mere trifle, in allowing him to walk home with her. But 
Mademoiselle Jeanne Duval was neither like the average French girl 
nor yet the average French actress. She hated her profession. She 
had not much ambition of any kind. She looked forward to marrying 
a prosperous tradesman and sitting at the desk elegantly dressed and 
keeping the books ; and she also meant to marry the first respectable 
man who asked her. She was pleased by Henry Weston’s admiration, 
and her hesitation at accepting his escort came from a rapid calculation 
in her mind as to the possibility of her being recognized through her 
thick veil. Perhaps he might be some rich English milor. America 
she had certainly heard of, although she could not locate it ; she had a 
cousin who had a shop in New York. That was in America? And 
so they walked on, and kept up rather a straggling conversation until 
they came to Mademoiselle’s door, when Henry Weston bade her cere- 
moniously good-night. 

After that he escorted her home every night for two weeks, and 
got deeper and deeper in love with his somewhat reticent but thproughly 
well-behaved inamorata. Then one night he went to the theatre, and 
another girl — a strange, awkward creature, apparently first-cousin to 
the big Jewess — was in Mademoiselle Varien’s part. Henry Weston 
went home surprised, grieved, annoyed, but he thought perhaps Jeanne 
was slightly ill ; he was a strong, well-balanced young fellow, not prone 
to nervous apprehension, and, before concluding that anything serious 
was the matter, .he waited to see if Mademoiselle would not come back 
in a night or two. 

The day after he had an appointment with the Chevalier Vaughan, 
of whom he still saw much, to join a hunting-party near Fontainebleau. 
They w^ent, and were caught in the rain, and the Chevalier took a vio- 
lent cold. He asked Henry Weston to stay with him, and, inwardly 
chafing and raging, the young man yet felt himself bound to stay. 
Thus a whole week passed away before he saw Paris again ; and the 
very first evening he got there he went straight to the Theatre Bourbon. 
The first-cousin of the Jewess still had Mademoiselle Varien’s place. 

Henry Weston instinctively disliked asking the theatre-people for 


HALE^WESTON. 


41 


any news of her, so next morning he rose early and drove out in a 
liacre to the little shop. It was closed, and on the door was a sign : it 
was to let. 

He inquired of a perfumer who lived near by if he knew what had 
become of the keeper of the glove-shop. The perfumer shook his 
head. All inquiries in the neighborhood were vain. The shop had 
been closed and the people moved out some days : business was dull 
there : the perfumer thought of moving himself. 

Then, as a last resort, he concluded to go to the theatre and ask for 
news of her. He went early in the evening, as soon as the man in his 
shirt-sleeves opened the ticket-window. 

Can you tell me,’^ he asked, diffidently and blushing furiously, 
‘^what has become of Mademoiselle Varien 

said the man, leisurely; then, after a pause, ‘^Perhaps the 
manager can. This way.^^ 

It was worth while to oblige regular patrons who always took the 
best seats. 

Henry Weston opened the door leading into the ticket-man’s box, 
and the man got down off his stool and opened another door leading 
into a larger office ; and there sat a handsome middle-aged woman at a 
desk, counting tickets and money. 

Henry Weston had been considerably puzzled by that phase of 
French life in which w^omen conduct three-fourths of the business 
done, but he concluded that the lady-like creature before him w^as 
the manager. She fixed a pair of clear, cold eyes on him. 

Can you tell me,” stammered he, now thoroughly overcome with 
bashfulness, anything of Mademoiselle Varien who played here up to 
a week ago ?” 

“ Mademoiselle Varien,” said Madame, promptly, was dismissed 
last week for scandalous conduct.” 

Henry Weston’s heart leaped into his mouth. He waited a moment 
or two to steady himself, and Madame, who seemed to take pleasure in 
imparting the news, and perhaps suspected the identity of the person 
before her, continued : 

Monsieur my husband, who is manager, is very particular about 
the proprieties. As long as the ladies of the theatre are anywhere 
about the building, they must conduct themselves with strict propriety. 
Thus we maintain the character of the house and secure an excellent 
patronage. Mademoiselle Varien was reported to have a friend who 
audaciously presented himself at the theatre every evening to take her 
home. Monsieur told her, after satisfying himself that it was true, 
that such shameless behavior could not be tolerated. Besides, there 
was another young woman, of irreproachable conduct, who could take 
Mademoiselle Varien’s part at a less price far better than Mademoiselle 
Varien : so Monsieur dismissed her. I know nothing of her present 
whereabouts.” 

And had she but one friend?” asked Henry Weston, his heart on 
fire. And was this you tell me, all ?” 

All ! Monsieur,” responded Madame, haughtily, could there 
be any more? Excuse me, I am much engaged. Good-evening.” 


42 


HALE-WESTON. 


He rushed out into the cool night-air. By his inexplicable folly 
and the infernal narrowness of French customs he had perhaps driven 
an innocent creature to destruction. Perhaps she was starving, — 
she ! — and her old mother or her little sister ; but he remembered she 
had told him she had neither. He walked rapidly down to the river. 
He dreaded and feared that she might be there, — might have been there 
already. How fatally convenient were those black waves, those dark 
arches ! How many bodies a week were drawn from its depths and 
laid on those horrible slabs in the Morgue! He wandered half the 
night up and down the river across the bridges. Of course he found 
no sign of her. 

Next morning a bright idea occurred to him. He went to the 
police : the police of Paris were thought something almost superhuman 
in those days. They readily undertook for a good round sum to 
find her ; but after a week’s search they had not come upon a trace 
of her. 

Naturally his passion increased through all this excitement and un- 
certainty. Naturally he said to himself that if he could find her he 
would let nothing stand in the way of making her his wife, — that is, if 
she would marry him ; for this handsome, rich young Virginian more 
doubted his own powers of pleasing and his own advantages than any- 
body else did. And he suffered agonies of remorse : it was he who had 
lost her her respectable employment ; if she killed herself, or worse, he 
would be to blame. 

One evening, when he had got very miserable and had begun to 
lose faith in the police, he sat in his apartment gloomily staring at the 
fire. He did not know what to do further. The police, those sleuth- 
hounds, had been unable to help him. It was true he meant to walk 
the streets of Paris by night and day forever, he thought; but he real- 
ized with a heavy heart the remote chances that he, a foreigner, should 
find her when trained detectives could not. It was quite dusk, — just 
the time the quays and bridges had their most terrible fascination for 
him, — the time when suicides are most secure from interruption when 
they embark for the unknown shore by way of the Seine. He heard a 
knock at his door. 

Something made him jump from his chair : it was a timid knock, 
like a woman’s, and he knew no woman in Paris to come to him or to 
send to him, but one. 

He opened the door. 

Yes, it was she. She looked ill and weary and very poor. Henry 
Weston seized her hands and looked with a keen agony into her face, 
as if he meant to read what was there written. A look of confidence 
came into his own face. Jeanne looked like one who has seen pain, 
hunger, and privation since he saw her last. 

Monsieur, I know I ought not to come to you,” said she, looking 
down. 

Why not? Why not?” demanded he. Was it not through me 
that you lost your place ? In my country, no gentleman would let a 
young woman whom he knew and respected go. through the streets 
alone at night.* 


HALE- WESTON. 43 

What a very strange country P said Jeanne, a look of surprise 
lighting up her melancholy features. 

It is a very good country, Jeanne. I live on a great big planta- 
tion, with a fine house, and we have plenty of carriages and horses and 
servants. You would be happy there. But tell me about yourself 
since you left the Th^^tre Bourbon.’^ 

I have had a very sad time,’’ said Jeanne, dolefully. I was 
turned off for nothing, just to make room for one of the manager’s 
friends. Well, just at that time Madame Lefevre, who kept the shop, 
you remember, gave up the lease ; and I had saved up four hundred 
francs, and hid them in a cleft in the chimney in my apartment ; and 
when I went to look for them they were gone, — stolen !” 

At this Jeanne began to cry, — not stage tears, but real, genuine 
tears. To lose her small savings was a very grievous and ever-present 
thing to her. 

‘‘ I tried first to get a place at the theatres. But I could not 
get anything to do. They all had as many people as they needed. I 
had pawned some of my clothes to get money to pay for a decent lodging 
and food ; and I walked all over the town. I tried to get work in the 
shops. It was the same thing : they did not know whether I was 
honest or not. And then this afternoon it began to rain, and I had no 
money and no friends, and I determined to come to you and ask you to 
lend me some or give me some until I can get work at a theatre in the 
autumn.” 

Then the poor wasted weary lamb had returned to him. She had 
honestly tried for work ; she had not asked for charity yet, and when 
she had to ask it -she came to one who, she knew, would not barter 
With her, but who would treat her as a sister, a cherished sister. So 
he reasoned. 

^lademoiselle,” he said, there is one way I can assist you, and 
that will save you from work and drudgery forever. You can marry 
me. I can give you more than you perhaps have dreamed of ; and if 
you can love me truly, you will be happy. I love you honestly.” 

Jeanne opened her eyes wide at this astonishing proposal. 

And will you live in Paris?” she asked. 

Ah, no,” he said, shaking his head. We may stay here awhile 
longer, we may return sometimes, but my home is in Virginia, — in 
America.” 

Jeanne had the uneducated Frenchwoman’s horror of distance, but 
she had a vein of practicality. He was clearly above her ; he was rich. 
Jeanne knew that money could buy everything : it was a great stroke 
for a girl like her ; anything was better than working night and day 
for a pittance ; and if she should marry him she could no doubt per- 
suade him to stay in Paris. Why should people with money ever want 
to leave Paris ? All this went through her small mind like lightning. 

Yes, monsieur, I suppose — it will be best.” 

Henry Weston took her hand and kissed it respectfully. He 
would not touch her lips nor hold her to his heart while she was tres- 
passing on his hospitality. It at once occurred to him that she must 
be got out at once, before anybody saw her. 


44 


HALE-WESTON. 


Jeanne/^ said he, after thinking a moment, you are mine now : 
so I must be careful of you. I must not go down with you, for we 
might meet some people, and the concierge might notice us together. 
Neither must I accompany you to your lodgings. Do you not know 
of some respectable lodging-house where you can remain to-night, and 
from whence you can meet me to-morrow 

There are respectable lodging-houses in plenty,’^ said J eanne. I 
know one not far from here, kept by the widow of a book-keeper. I 
will go there. I lodged there once.’^ 

Henry Weston went quickly across the room, unlocked his escritoire, 
and took out some gold and notes. Jeanne’s eyes glistened as she saw 
them. She had never seen so much money at any one time before, 
except when the manager counted up his box-receipts. 

He selected ten gold pieces. 

If you were seen with too much money it might excite remark,” 
he said, blushing as he spoke, — Jeanne did not blush at all, — so in 
giving you this, remember it is only until to-morrow. Do not go to 
the pawn-shops after your clothes. You could not wear them — I could 
not let you — after being in such a place. And send me a note as soon 
as you decide upon your lodging ” 

Well, my dear fellow,” exclaimed the Chevalier Vaughan’s clear, 
jovial voice, as the door flew open and revealed him standing on the 
threshold, ‘^when I have knocked three times and got no answer I 
think I am justifiable in trying the door.” 

The Chevalier stopped and turned crimson. He hated himself for 
his awkwardness, for his unfortunate entrance. Henry Weston turned 
very pale. Jeanne was the only one who was unmoved. 

Pardon !” exclaimed the Chevalier, almost choking with mortifi- 
cation, and awkwardly bowing out of the door. 

Wait ! wait !” cried Henry Weston. This is — this is my wife.” 

He was inexpert as a liar, and very, very rash. 

The Chevalier knew instinctively that the pretty, self-possessed 
young woman was not Mrs. Weston ; but he could not say he disbe- 
lieved it, and he was perfectly certain at that moment that she would 
eventually be: so he came back and bowed ceremoniously as Weston, 
whose turn it was now to color furiously, introduced him in French. 
As for Jeanne, she had not understood what either of them had said in 
English, but she knew something had happened, and she was not dis- 
pleased at being introduced in that way. So, after a few formal and 
embarrassed words, the Chevalier withdrew. 

“I had to do it for your sake,” explained Henry Weston, dis- 
tractedly. 

Yes, yes,” said Jeanne, walking towards the door. Don’t come 
with me. I will send you a messenger at once, as soon as I get to my 
lodging. Adieu.” And she disappeared rapidly down the stairway. 

He made no move to follow her. It was then irrevocable ; and, 
just as he might have known, the thought of its irrevocability came 
over him with something like horror. His judgment, which had slept, 
now waked and turned upon him. Had it been a genuine passion, the 
incongruities of the situation he would have put out of sight ; but it 


HALE-WESTON. 


45 


was rather an infatuation of the imagination than of the heart. He 
loved her for what he fancied, not for what he knew, about her. At 
all events, his honor was doubly engaged, — ^so did this high-strung 
young man argue with himself. He tried to remember with grim 
comfort that it was a common experience with all men to feel some un- 
easiness at the moment of entering upon that perpetual contract. But 
under ordinary circumstances he could count on his own courage. 
Suppose it were Anne Brandon he was to marry. 

He had been walking up and down the room; but when this 
thought struck him he stopped short as if he had been shot. He 
clinched his hands and stood looking down. 

Anne’s image had not been much with him in those later days, and 
the first time it rose before him, overwhelming him, was within an hour 
of the time he had promised himself to another woman. For the first 
time he thought of Anne as definitely beyond his reach. He did not 
know — men being ignorant of these things — that the stab the memory 
of her gave him meant that his heart belonged to her, not to the little 
fourth-rate hourgeoise actress. He thought he loved Jeanne, and that 
he only regretted it was not she who was the American girl, born and 
brought up within sight of the tall chimneys of Hale-Weston. But 
Anne, having once come into his mind, would not go away. How 
would she meet him ? Would she be contemptuous, or indifferent, or 
unkind ? He tried to drive her out of his mind ; he forced himself 
to be loyal to that unknown creature he had lured to marry him. And 
there were arrangements to be made for that to-morrow. 

Here were new distractions. He knew something of French mar- 
riages : he had often seen those gay processions to the mairie, followed 
by that visit to the church ; he knew he -would be required to prove his 
age, his parents’ consent, the certificate of his baptism : in those days 
the French marriage-laws were even more difficult for a foreigner to 
comply with than now. He knew not whom to consult with. The 
Chevalier, the man to whose worldly wisdom he would first have ap- 
plied, he could not. He bethought him of an English chaplain whom 
he had met on that hunting-expedition to Fontainebleau. He remem- 
bered having found a card from him one day that week. Yes, there 
it was, — the Rev. Charles Wey bridge, 39, Rue de St. Georges. He put 
on his hat, called a fiacre, and drove there hurriedly. It was now night. 

The Rev. Mr. Wey bridge was at home. Henry Weston was 
ushered into a cosey den full of smoke, and found his clerical friend 
deep in one of Beaumarchais’ novels. He was a pleasant, well-bred 
man, but something in him put Henry Weston instinctively on his 
guard. He had meant to make a clean breast of it, but when he got 
into the presence of his father confessor he concluded to tell him only 
what was necessary. 

Mr. Wey bridge was delighted to see him, and Henry Weston 
plunged at once into his business. 

“ You see before you a man who wants your assistance in tying 
himself up for life,” he said, with a grim pretence of a smile. 

^^Ah?” said Mr. Weybridge, returning the smile without any 
pretence at all. 


46 


HALE-WESTON. 


And I want to state to you certain difficulties. As a clergyman 
and having lived in France, I suppose you are familiar with phases of 
French marriages. Now, the lady is a Frenchwoman, — Mademoiselle 
Jeanne Duval.” 

Mr. Wey bridge, without uttering a word, gave the impression to 
his guest that he did not think his fiancee had a very aristocratic name. 

I cannot, for my part, produce any certificate of my birth, my 
parents’ consent, or any of the thousand-and-one things necessary for 
a French marriage.” 

Could you not, my friend, get them from America?” 

Henry Weston felt perfectly certain that Mr. Weybridge knew 
when he made the suggestion that there were reasons which put the 
many months necessary to transmit these things out of the question. 

“ It would take four or five months, perhaps,” he said, coldly : 
meanwhile, Mademoiselle Duval is an orphan, she is poor, and I feel 
it my duty to save her from work, poverty, and possibly aspersions, by 
marrying her, — to-morrow, if possible. The French are a queer set, — 
evil-minded and suspicious. I walked to her house in the evening with 
her a few times, and it made scandal.” 

In an instant he regretted his admission. Of course no French 
girl brought up in any respectable class of society would permit such 
a thing. He added, with a heightened color, — 

Mademoiselle Duval is an actress at the Th^^tre Bourbon.” 

Mr. Weybridge thought he understood it all. Henry Weston 
continued, kicking the little fire of fagots savagely, — 

“ I have thought it over. I have concluded that the best thing 
would be to be married by an English clergyman. I believe it is pos- 
sible to get the record of the marriage inscribed at the mairie, — to have 
each of us a certificate and the clergyman one, — in short, to complete 
the proof of the marriage as far as possible. That makes it a legal 
marriage in the United States. I don’t know how it would be in 
France; but we shall not live in France.” 

Would it not be well,” asked Mr. Weybridge, glancing askance 
at his visitor, to have a marriage ceremony performed after you get 
to the United States ?” 

I think not,” responded Weston, deep in thought. It would be 
an admission that the first marriage was invalid ; it might make trouble 
if anything hinging upon the validity of the marriage should occur 
between the two ceremonies. No, I think it best to have a marriage 
performed as it often is here among the English and Americans, merely 
according to their customs. Its irregularity here would be no irregu- 
larity in my country.” 

^^Of what religion is Mademoiselle Duval?” asked Mr. Wey- 
bridge. 

Henry Weston could scarcely raise his eyes from the floor. I don’t 
know,” he said, in a low voice. 

Mr. Weybridge was not deficient in tact. He immediately said, — 

At what hour shall you then require my services ?” 

To-morrow at eleven,” replied Henry Weston, promptly, ^Un this 
room. And will you oblige me by not speaking of this to any one, — 


HALE-WESTON. 


47 


not even the Chevalier Vaughan? There are family reasons: my 
people, as you may know, would scarcely be likely to relish a French- 
woman for my wife.” 

“ Certainly, certainly,” said Mr. Weybridge. 

Henry Weston went home. Another thing beset him. Would the 
Chevalier write Virginia about the marriage ? It was his plan to 
remain in Europe yet six months longer : he wanted to become ac- 
quainted with his new wife; he did not wish to tear her suddenly away 
from all familiar things ; he wanted her to learn at least to understand 
English ; and he wished to prepare her somewhat, for her own sake, for 
the strange new life before her. He could not bear to ask the Cheva- 
lier’s secrecy, — he recoiled from the very idea, — yet how much better it 
would be if the marriage could be kept from his people until he re- 
turned bringing his bride with him ! He began to fancy his mother’s 
anxiety, his father’s disappointment. Yes, it would be much better 
that he should tell them than that they should hear it. Then they 
would see Jeanne, with her grace, her softness. Then they would not 
consider him a hot-headed young fool. 

Next morning the bridal party stood in the Rev. Mr. Wey- 
bridge’s little drawing-room. It consisted, besides the bride and bride- 
groom and clergyman, of Mr. Wey bridge’s valet and the concierge for 
witnesses. Jeanne looked very pretty in a neat dark dress and hat, 
well gloved, and carrying a bouquet of roses. Henry Weston was 
pale, but self-possessed. The clergyman was the only member of the 
party who showed any agitation. He stumbled over parts of the mar- 
riage service, — Jeanne had professed herself a Protestant, — trembled, 
and seemed almost overcome with nervousness. In a little while it was 
over; the clergyman congratulated them, Henry Weston slipped a gold 
piece in the hands of each of the witnesses, and left a little pile of louis- 
d’or on the mantel for the Rev. Mr. Weybridge, which made that 
gentleman’s face expand into a smile, and Mr. and Mrs. Henry Weston, 
going down-stairs, in the court-yard entered a smart carriage and were 
driven away at a spanking gait towards Fontainebleau. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Of that honeymoon it made Henry Weston sick at heart to think 
in after-years. It was not that Jeanne turned out to be any worse than 
she appeared to be. True, she was a slattern in the morning, as French- 
women are only too apt to be ; but when she was dressed for a walk in 
the forest of Fontainebleau she looked extremely pretty and — quite the 
lady, so she fancied. Not so Henry Weston. She never looked to him 
like a lady from the day she became his wife. She was remarkably 
quiet, and reasoned about things in a way much more practical than 
did her lord and master. For it is not to be supposed that the future 
was all rosy to her any more than it was to Henry Weston. Although 
she had married a rich man and a gentleman, he was quite unlike the 
Pierres and Adolphes she had known in the paternal hair-dressing 


48 


HALE- WESTON. 


establishment at Marseilles. Jeanne found her husband an inscrutably 
mysterious person, and unpleasant in many ways. He looked as black 
as a thunder-cloud when she appeared at breakfast in her 'peignoir, 
which Jeanne knew — or thought she knew — was the only correct wear ; 
he liked to read in the evenings, instead of going to the theatres regu- 
larly ; he sometimes walked when he might have ridden ; and he in- 
sisted that she should learn the English language. 

Then there was that dreadful voyage to that melancholy country- 
place, where she might have to stay two or three years. For, although 
Henry AVeston tried to impress upon her the absolute necessity that 
they should live in Virginia, Jeanne simply did not believe him. He 
would be rich, and of course he would return to Paris. Why should 
rich people live anywhere else than at Paris ? She was confident of 
her persuasive powers. Had not the late Monsieur Duval submitted 
invariably in the end to her excellent mother, the late Madame Duval ? 
But, as it was, nothing could be more sad. When Henry Weston told 
her of the grand avenue of magnolia-trees, and explained to her that 
it was not a promenade with seats along the walk, she almost wept. 
The ocean voyage terrified her. Her mother’s cousins, the Leroux 
family, who had a large hair-dressing establishment in New York, had 
often written them it was a dull place, — no opera, no circus, no prome- 
nade worth speaking of. Besides finding her husband very poor com- 
pany, Jeanne sometimes wondered if it would not have been wiser for 
her to have struggled a little longer against poverty which was not, 
after all, quite so desperate as she had represented it to be. 

And in the midst of it all came a letter from Mrs. Weston, saying 
Henry Weston must return at once. His father was thought to be 
failing fast, and Mrs. Weston begged him, by the love she bore him, 
not to delay. The fact was, Mrs. Weston did not want Henry AVeston 
to be out of the way while Mr. Weston might be making his final 
arrangements about property. 

The letter staggered Henry Weston. His wife saw it, and, seeing 
also a little chink of escape from that horrible country-house which she 
called Hile-Veston,’’ she eagerly asked if it would not be better for her 
to remain, certainly for a time, in New York with those Leroux rela- 
tions of whose existence she had informed her husband, dwelling at the 
time with pride upon the reported size and dimensions of the shop. 

Henry Weston went through the inevitable experience of those 
who enter upon secret paths. A little concealment breeds a greater one. 
His shame and grief made him agree to what his judgment and honor 
condemned, — that Jeanne should stay in New York while he went to 
Virginia. And then Jeanne, who never meant to go to Virginia if she 
could help it, proposed that he should not say anything for the present 
about his marriage. Monsieur Veston might be very angry and leave 
Monsieur Algee everything. And then in her secret heart she thought 
if New York should prove unendurable she might get back to Paris 
more easily if the police and ih^juge de paix in Virginia did not know 
that Henry Weston was married. 

This he had at first roughly and violently refused ; but Jeanne knew 
he would yield. The best she could do, now that she was to be torn 


HALE-WESTON. 49 

away from Paris, was to stay in New York, where at least she could 
get back at a pinch. 

Oh, the horrors of that voyage to those two unfortunates ! They 
took passage on a sailing-vessel at Havre, and for six long weeks they 
were thrown upon each other’s society without relief. There were no 
other passengers. This had been one reason why Henry Weston had 
taken passage in the ship. 

Miserable as was Henry Weston, what he suffered was not worse 
than that endured by the poor little Parisienne cooped up in her narrow 
cabin, weeping and lamenting and terrified half out of her life. Any- 
thing that a gentle and chivalrous man could do for a woman Henry 
Weston would have done for her. But Jeanne wanted nothing but 
Paris. She wept, she moaned, she raved. As the ship rolled in the 
long billows of the sea, she shuddered, thinking that it would upset 
and they would all be drowned. Nothing on earth would ever induce 
her to make such a voyage again, except to return to her beloved Paris. 

It was a beautiful hot bright day in May when they landed at New 
York. Scarcely were they at their hotel before Jeanne insisted upon 
going to see her cousins, the Leroux. Henry Weston at once ordered 
a carriage. They were driven to a fashionable hair-dressing establish- 
ment with sixteen ‘^heads’’ in a superb show-window, where Jeanne 
jumped out, rushed in, and was rapturously received by a white-aproned 
personage with a comb sticking behind his ear. That was Uncle 
Leroux. Then there were Anastasie and Emilie Leroux, young ladies 
with very elaborately dressed heads, and Adolphe, a copy in miniature 
of Uncle Leroux, with a small waxed moustache, and evidently the 
gentleman of the family. Uncle Leroux shook his head and sadly 
explained that Adolphe had no taste for “*the profession.” 

As for Jeanne, she was completely happy. Emilie and Anastasie 
admired her bonnet, her paletot, her parasol. Cousin Adolphe compli- 
mented her on her eyes, her nose, her air. She explained the circum- 
stances of their marriage, and then dwelt on the glories of Hile-Veston” 
until Henry Weston could almost have died of shame. Would they 
take her as a member of the family while Henri went to that dull Vir- 
ginia where there was no opera? Money, of course, was no object to 
her dear Henri, who would one day be Monsieur Hile-Veston. Uncle 
Leroux pricked up his ears at that. The arrangement was soon made. 
All were in haste to have it completed, — Henry Weston to get through 
with it, Jeanne to see him on his way to Virginia, and Uncle Leroux 
lest they should change their minds on account of the price. The ill- 
ness of Mr. Weston was the convenient excuse that seemed made for 
all of them. 

When Henry Weston walked back to the hotel, through the hot 
and blazing streets, — for he was to take the stage that afternoon for 
Philadelphia, — he felt himself the most wretched and humiliated man 
on God’s earth. The sights and sounds of city life sickened and con- 
fused him. He was country-bred. In times past, when misery seized 
upon him, he could go into the heart of the woods ; he could sit under 
the hedge-row, as he had done that day so long ago when the Chevalier 
Vaughan had found him ; he could mount his horse and ride furiously 
VoL. XLIII.— 4 


50 


HALE-WESTON. 


away from sights and sounds of men, away into the shadow and the 
coolness and the comforting solitude. How wretched — oh, how wretched 
was he not ! Who would at that moment change places with the young 
man whom Mrs. Weston called proudly Weston of Hale- Weston’^? 


CHAPTER IX. 

Although the weather had been hot and bright in New York, it 
was cold and stormy for more than a week at Hale- Weston. Mrs. 
Weston, who loved warmth and light, had an excuse for having a little 
cheery fire lighted in her own little sitting-room, up-stairs, in the corner 
of the wing. Algy and Miss Fisher were then married and tempo- 
rarily domiciled at Hale- Weston. Mrs. Angela had never, in all the 
months before, so wearied of Maria as in that one week of rain and 
clouds. She could not even get over to Mrs. Thorpe at Broomhill in 
the afternoons to hear what was going on in the county. Dr. Peyton 
had spent one evening with them ; he came often now, to see Mr. 
Weston, who was strangely ailing of late, though not so ill as Henry 
Weston imagined. 

On the fifth afternoon of wind and rain, Mrs. Weston began to 
suffer for company. She sent over to Sparrow Point for Anne Brandon 
to come and stay with her. 

Anne arrived about five o’clock. Maria, who was delighted to play 
hostess, met her at the door : 

So glad to see you ! Mother,” — for so she called Mrs. Weston, 
to that lady’s wrath, who could not, however, forbid her son’s wife to 
do what custom required of daughters-in-law in those days, — mother 
is not well. She is up-stairs. I will show you up. You turn to the 
left ” 

Don’t trouble yourself,” said Anne, coolly, who was kind to Maria 
on the whole, but who objected to being patronized by her. I have 
known the way perfectly well ever since I could remember.” 

Mrs. Weston, too, was delighted to see Anne. She kissed her, and 
put her down in a great chair near the fire, and told her how near she 
came to sending the coach after her just to plague Maria. 

^^But if you are ever my daughter-in-law, Nancy Brandon, you 
shall have the coach to return your wedding visits in, and I’ll pay the 
visits with you. That’s a promise.” 

At this, Anne’s cheeks turned so beautifully red that Mrs. Weston 
concluded she need not trouble herself any more about Anne’s per- 
verseness. Girls do not blush that way for nothing. 

^^You will never have another daughter-in-law as obedient as 
Maria. She is deathly afraid of you.” 

know she is,” replied Mrs. Weston, nodding her head, ^‘and I 
mean to keep her so. Now, if — I don’t say it’s certain, by any means ; 
I am only speaking of possibilities — you and Henry should make a 
match, you would be the most independent daughter-in-law in the 
world, and Henry would make the most uncompromising son-in-law. 


HALE- WESTON. 


51 


Mr. Brandon would not be able to frighten him any more than I could 
frighten you.” 

Mrs. Weston was in great good humor. The idea of the way 
Henry would rout Mr. Brandon tickled her immensely. 

“Dear Mrs. Weston,” said Anne, quite out of patience, “you make 
me dreadfully uncomfortable. If you want to make Henry and me 
hate each other, just go on in that way for a little while.” 

Mrs. Weston would not desist immediately : 

“ Maria is already jealous of you. I don^t do anything to relieve 
her mind, you may depend upon it.” 

But Anne, resolutely turning the conversation, got Mrs. Weston 
off a topic that was very pleasing to her, but very embarrassing to 
Anne. Presently Mrs. Weston got back to Henry. It was generally 
understood that Henry Weston would come home for the summer at 
all events. He might come any week, — any day, almost. Mrs. AVeston 
had heard through the Chevalier Vaughan that Henry was well, and 
staying at Fontainebleau. The letter hastening Henryks departure 
had evidently not reached France at that time. Mrs. Weston had not 
heard from Henry for seven weeks, and so imagined he had started for 
America immediately on receiving her letter. He had probably written 
on the chance of the letter getting to her first, but the same winds that 
kept him back would keep the letter back too. Mrs. Weston was not 
uneasy. She was one of those well-balanced, strong-nerved women 
who reason naturally about things and do not borrow trouble. 

Presently they went down-stairs and had tea in the vast old dining- 
room, Mr. Weston looking pale and ill as they sat at table. An extra 
place was put, which Mrs. Weston, seeing Anne glancing at, as if 
expecting another guest, explained with a happy smile was HectoPs 
doing. Ever since Henry had been written for, and long before it was 
possible he could reach New York, that place had been set for him at 
every meal. Hector, whose wool had grown a little grayer, grinned 
with delight at the prospect of Henry’s home-coming. 

“ When little Marse come, — I c’yarn call him nuttin’ but dat fer 
ter save me, — he gwi’ fin’ he place all sot ; an’ he mammy” — this 
was Keziah, Hector’s wife — “ she keep he bed sheeted, an’ he bureau 
full o’ dem nice white shuts o’ his’n, an’ she say she so intrusted wid 
dem conjurements in dat room, she ain’ got time fer ter men’ my 
close.” 

This was confided in a respectful whisper to Anne, who blushed 
again at finding herself the object of all information bearing upon 
Henry. Still, to be courted, and invited into the family, and made love 
to as it were by everybody, from Mrs. Weston down to Hector and 
Keziah, was certainly flattering. 

After tea they went into the hall alcove, where a fire was lighted, 
and Mr. Weston drew up shivering to the blaze, while Mrs. AVeston 
seated herself comfortably on one side of the table, with Algy and 
Maria on the other. Maria rivalled Elizabeth Brandon in her neatness 
and persistency in fancy-work. Toinette, a shy slip of fourteen, came 
up to Anne, of whom she was fond in her quiet, undemonstrative way : 

“Anne, won’t you play battledoor in the hall with me? Miss 


52 


HALE-WESTON. 


Fisher — I mean sister Maria — used to do it before she married brother 
Algy ; but now she says it makes her arm ache and tumbles her hair.” 

‘‘Certainly 1^11 play,” cried Anne. “It doesn’t make my arm 
ache, and I don’t care if it does tumble my hair.” 

While waiting for Jake, an attache of Hector’s who described him- 
self loftily as “ Marse Henry’s body-servant, sah,” to fetch the battle- 
doors and shuttlecock, Toinette contributed her mite of information 
about Henry in Anne’s ear : 

“ I’ll be so glad when brother Henry comes home. Algy is very 
good to me, but brother Henry is the most delightful brother. Anne, 
you don’t know how easy it is to learn French verbs from brother 
Henry. And he takes me riding, and doesn’t scold because I don’t 
sit straight.” 

“ What a disreputable-looking old shuttlecock, Toinette !” cried 
Anne, in reply to this, giving it a toss that sent it up to the ceiling. 
“ I’ll make you a better one to-morrow^” 

The great folding screen was put across the space dividing the main 
hall from the alcove. Behind it and over it the warm red light of fire 
and lamp could be seen, but the hall itself was only lighted by candles 
on the tall silver branches over the fireplace, which gaped black and 
vast and fireless. The game was very merry. Toinette, who seldom 
spoke or laughed much, was in a perfect gale. Anne ran hither and 
thither, hitting the shuttlecock every time, beating poor little Toinette’s 
score unmercifully, but so gayly and good-humoredly that Toinette was 
quite reconciled. Mrs. Weston could hear their shouts of laughter as 
the two girls scrambled over chairs in the dim light, and with little 
screams dashed hither and thither over the polished and slippery floor 
after the flying shuttlecock. She liked youth and laughter and mer- 
riment. Toinette was so preternaturally quiet and Maria since her 
marriage so excessively dignified that it was as bad as having no young 
people in the house at all. Even Mr. Weston smiled feebly. “It 
sounds cheerful,” he said to Mrs. Angela, who heartily agreed. 

But the shuttlecock, already very dilapidated, got a final whack 
that burst it open, and Toinette ran off* to Mammy Keziah to get it 
tied up, so that the game might be finished. Anne, balancing her 
battledoor on her fingers, went and looked out of the side-lights to the 
outer hall door, that opened upon the great square stone porch. The 
hall was not so light that she could not see out into the night. 

The wind still howled, and the rain came down in sudden misty 
gusts. The trees were full of foliage, that soughed the louder as the 
blast rushed through them. A few clouds scudded over the dark sky, 
and far, far down the dark avenue, where the magnolias rustled their 
polished leaves, a travelling-carriage was moving rapidly. Of course it 
was Henry Weston. Something told her of his approach, and an invisi- 
ble force held her to her place from which she could watch his arrival. 
The wind and the rain drowned the sound of the wheels and the horses’ 
hoofs. The carriage rolled nearer and nearer, silently. Soon it had 
turned in the wide sweep of the gravelled drive up to the door. Henry 
Weston was leaning out of the window : she knew it was he, although 
the large hat he wore concealed his features. When the carriage drew 


HALE- WESTON. 


63 


up at the door, the dogs did not give the alarm. The carriage door was 
open, and he was on the ground and up the broad stone steps at three 
bounds. He did not raise the big brass knocker, but, turning the knob 
at once, strode into the hall, and face to face with him stood Anne 
Brandon. He seized her suddenly, almost violently. 

My dearest he said, and strained her to his heart. 

By this time the noise of the opening door and the rushing in of 
the chilling breeze had aroused Mrs. Weston and the others in the 
screened-off alcove. Mrs. Weston ran forward with a delighted cry : 
“ My son I My son f’ 

In an instant they were all around him. Not anything, not even 
that French girl at the hair-dresser’s in New York, who ought then to 
have been with him, could utterly mar for Henry Weston the joy of 
that meeting. There was Anne, who stood silent, trembling, flushing, 
and yet happy ; his mother, who hung upon him fondly, and tried to 
unfasten his great Spanish travelling-cloak, and could not do it for 
tears and laughter; and Mr. Weston, who for once touched them all. 
He could only hold Henry Weston’s hand in his, and say over and 
over again, How glad I am that you have come ! I was afraid you 
would not come. I did not wish to alarm you.” 

I came, sir, the very moment I heard of your illness. Nothing 
should have kept me.” 

Two tears trickled down the ex-overseer’s homely and somewhat 
foxy face. It’s such a comfort to see you,” he cried. 

Algy, too, and Maria, were smiling. Algy relished his brother’s 
hearty congratulations, after the lukewarm ones he had received, and 
when Maria found herself saluted with a fraternal kiss she felt for the 
first time that she was one of the Westons. 

I congratulate you, old fellow,” said Henry, clasping Algy’s hand. 

I saw you were winged before I went away. You always were a 
deuced lucky fellow.” 

Algy blushed with pleasure. His brother’s backing was of great 
moment to him. 

Little Toinette had slipped her hand in Henry’s, and was whisper- 
ing in his ear, “ I can ride the bay pony now you have come home.” 

How sweet, how pleasant it was to him, after the hair-dresser’s 
family and the shop with sixteen heads in the window ! 

Then Hector had given the alarm, and the house-servants came 
flocking in, headed by Hector and Keziah. Keziah held him in her 
arms, and kissed his hand with delight : 

Gord bless my young marse ! Missis, ain’t he de han’somest 
thing you ever seed ? Jes’ look at he h’yar, de way hit curls !” 

“ Hush, you old flatterer ! I’ve got something in my trunk for 
you.” 

Has you, honey ? And you thought ’bout yo’ po’ ole mammy ’way 
off in dem furgitious places ? I got a clean shut fer you, honey, ter 
put on in de mornin’.” 

Keziah, fur de Lord’s sake let somebody else git d’yar an’ shake 
he han’. Come up heah, you niggers, an’ shake yo’ young marse’s 
han’.” 


64 


HALE-WESTON. 


Presently, when the house-servants had all shaken hands and blessed 
and exclaimed and yah-yahed, and Hector had made a big bowl of punch 
to celebrate the occasion and had handed it around, and Jake had bustled 
about, putting wood on the fire, and Keziah had gone off to get little 
Marse’s room ready, they gathered in the little alcove. Anne was no 
interruption to the family party. So intimate had they always been 
that there were no reserves between them. She sat on one side of Mrs. 
Weston, still toying with the battledoor. Mrs. Weston thought she 
had never seen her look so pretty, or so happy. Quite naturally she 
and Henry got back to the old intimate, half-bantering way between 

them, although to each the other occupied a new attitude. Their posi- 
tions were reversed. Henry Weston, crushing down his despair, felt 
that the worst that had yet befallen him was to give up Anne Brandon. 
But, like other wretched wrong-doers, he put his wretchedness and his 
wrong-doing out of sight for a little while. It was almost happiness, 

then, to see her once more. 

I suppose I ought to take the first opportunity of thanking you 
for the charming fan you sent me,’’ she said. 

“ Of course you ought. You might have done it half an hour ago. 
Elizabeth would have been more prompt. I shall remember Elizabeth 
in the distribution of my gifts from Paris.” 

‘‘Do. I could always get anything I pleased out of Elizabeth.” 

“Anne,” cried Mrs. Weston, “if I were you I would flatter him 
until you see what he has brought home with him. You will have the 
whole summer to quarrel with him.” 

“ Thank you, ma’am, for your advice. I shall begin right away. 
His hair does curl beautifully. His nose, too, is straighter than when 
he went away.” 

“Disparage me as you like, you will never make me admit that 
you are not the prettiest girl in the county,” answered Henry Weston, 
boldly, with a glance of open admiration in his dark eyes. 

Mrs. Weston laughed. Things were certainly going finely. There 
was Henry making open love to Anne the minute he saw her, and Anne 
confused and vexed, but anything but displeased at it, if Mrs. Weston 
could read the signs, — and she thought she could. 

It was midnight before they knew it. “ To bed ! to bed !” cried 
Mrs. Weston, waving her hand up the staircase, as Jake appeared with 
the candlesticks. 

Henry Weston gave his arm to his father, who walked more actively 
than for months up the stairs. Mrs. Weston ran up like a girl of twenty, 
and showed Anne her room. 

“ Good-night,” said Anne, bowing to the group in the upper hall, as 
Jake, flourishing a tall silver candlestick, prepared to escort her to the 
door of her room. 

“Here, you, sir, give your master your arm,” said Henry Weston ; 
and, taking the candle from Jake’s willing hand, he himself lighted 
Anne to her door, and pressed her hand as he said good-night. Do not 
be too hard on him. He was so unhappy. 

Even Mr. Weston smiled when he rejoined them, and his mother 
drew him in her dressing-room and shut the door. How handsome, 


HALE-WESTON. 


55 


how tall he was ! What an indescribable air of elegance he had ac- 
quired ! No Miss Fishers for him. Perhaps that misadventure of 
Algy^s made Mrs. Weston a little more eager about the scheme she was 
fomenting between Anne and himself. She never could feel altogether 
sure now until he was safely married. She had been taken in once, and 
it behooved her now to be prudent. Anne Brandon had everything 
necessary to make the match an equal one, except money ; and money 
was the one thing Henry Weston could do without. But when, stand- 
ing over him as he lay back in her favorite arm-chair, she spoke openly 
of this cherished plan of hers, sharpened by her experience of one 
daughter-in-law, a look she could not understand, and which gave her 
strange forebodings, came over Henry Weston’s face, and suddenly, 
putting his arms around her, he leaned his head on his mother’s breast 
and uttered a groan so deep, so full of despair, that it could only come 
from the depths of misery. 

Mrs. Weston was a strong woman, but her steady nerves were 
shaken. She had never seen anything like that. 

And presently, still holding to his mother, he told the whole 
wretched story. 

It would be hard to describe the horror of disappointment which 
Mrs. Weston endured. At first she did not quite take it in. With 
that strange characteristic of all women in their judgment of men, she 
could have forgiven him wickedness much more easily than weakness. 
When he convinced her that it was no mere escapade, but that he had 
behaved like an honorable man, she was overwhelmed with despair. 
She wept torrents of tears, and wrung her hands as she walked the 
floor. She reproached him violently, not for his entanglement with 
Jeanne, but for making her his wife. I could forgive you all, any- 
thing, but that !” she gasped, livid and trembling with grief and ex- 
citement. To have married her, — that was the real crime !” 

Henry Weston looked at his mother with a singular expression 
upon his dark face ; 

What was I to do, mother? Would you have had me play the 
rascal ? At least I am a gentleman still. I can look an honest man 
and an honest woman in the face.” 

Can you ? Then it is more than I can. What have I ever done 
in my life, that I should have to suffer thus ? And I was the proudest 
mother! Oh, could you have but thought of me, you would never 
have married that woman.” 

Something brought to Henry Weston’s mind that little scene with 
the Chevalier Yaughan, so many years ago. Did she think of him 
then ? 

It is done now,” he said, sullenly. 

But it must not be known. Oh, heavens ! Could I but see the 
Chevalier ! Promise me — promise me that you will keep it a secret, 
at least for a little while. Spare me — spare your father for a little 
while !” 

In the extremity of her grief and despair, Mrs. Weston did not 
know why she asked this, except that second only to the misery of her 
knowing this dreadful thing about Henry Weston was the shame of 


66 


HALE-WESTON. 


having it known in the county, and she held on desperately to the 
idea that there Tvas some way out of it. And if Mr. Weston should 

know it Mrs. Weston grew faint and her heart almost stopped 

still at this awful apprehension. Perhaps the Chevalier Vaughan, with 
all his brains and tact and worldly wisdom, might be of help. It was 
only a straw, but she grasped at it and clung to it. 

And, just as Henry Weston had done when his wife made the same 
suggestion, he refused, and then sutfered himself to be persuaded. 

‘^Only until I see the Chevalier Vaughan, — until I can consult 
with him,^^ she urged, anxiously. 

What good can consulting with him do replied he, still sullen. 

Will consulting break a legal marriage? for I tell you it is as hard 
and fast as I could make it. And did I say that I wished it broken ? 
I did it with my eyes open.’^ 

But for your father’s sake — consider, he is not well. Sometimes 
I think he is much more ill than he appears. Dr. Peyton is here so 
often. Think what the blow would be to him.” 

It was all weak, inadequate, if not worse, yet at last he agreed : 

But I will make no promise. It may come out any day. I may 
choose to reveal it ; she may.” 

Mrs. Weston w^as thankful even for a little respite. 

And I had plans for you !” she cried, weeping, — for she had again 
melted into tears, and sat on the sofa opposite him, and wept and wept. 

I thought Anne Brandon would be a fitting wife for you ” 

“ Say no more,” replied Henry Weston, rising, with a look that 
checked his mother’s tears as well as words. There are some things 
about which even you must be silent.” And he went out, closing the 
door after him. 

Mrs. Weston did not know how long she sat there. It was getting 
cold. With the dull curiosity which makes one wonder at such times 
how long one has suffered, she glanced at her watch. It had run down. 
She opened the door to look at the big brazen-face clock that ticked 
loudly in the upper hall. Under Anne Brandon’s door, on the other 
side of the hall, she saw a thin thread of light. It was nearly three 
o’clock. 

Mrs. Weston crossed the hall and tapped lightly at the door. 

Anne,” she said, in a low voice, are you ill ?” 

Anne opened the door. She was still fully dressed. The candle 
flickered faintly, and the broad bars of moonlight on the floor — for 
the night had cleared off — were plainly visible. Mrs. Weston’s pale 
face showed that something was the matter. Anne drew her into the 
room. 

Why do you look like that?” she asked. You frighten me.” 

I’ve had a blow, Anne ; I’ve had a blow,” was all Mrs. AVeston 
could say, as she sat down on the bed and clasped Anne’s hands 
nervously. 

Anne grew a little pale : “ Is it — is it about ” 

“ Yes.” 

These two wmmen each knew the person in the other’s mind. 

‘^He has had an — entanglement.” Mrs. Weston thought it kind to 


HALE-WESTON. 57 

tell her this much. But she could not bring herself to tell the rest. 
If only he had not married her ! 

A wave of anger, shame, and all that one could feel of pain 
swept over Anne. He had held her in his arms, and had called her 
“ Dearest f — and there was another woman ! Something in her face 
impelled Mrs. Weston to tell her more than she had intended: 

He fancied his honor involved ; he has done what can never be 
undone.’^ 

I think I understand,^^ said Anne, in a strained voice. At least 
he has behaved honorably. That should be a genuine comfort.^^ 

Do you call that comfort cried Mrs. Weston, seizing her almost 
fiercely. Do you call it comforting that he has sacrificed himself and 
you and me to a shadow, — an idea ?” 

“ Yes,’’ said Anne, in the same voice. It is very hard, but it is 
right, I suppose. Anyhow, one must try to love what is right. But it 
would have been better for me had he behaved wickedly and shame- 
fully, because, although one cannot stop loving all at once, — nor can 
one love but once, — ^yet if he were not worthy — I don’t know how one 
can stop loving just because the man one loves has had one weak mo- 
ment. That is why it is so hard.” 

Mrs. Weston listened attentively to this speech. 

“ Anne,” said she, presently, “ I don’t understand you : we are 
very unlike. I hate folly much worse than wickedness ; but I know 
that if I had my way I would rather Henry should marry you, with 
nothing but the clothes you stood in, than any other woman in the 
world.” 

But he is married already,” answered Anne, with the ghost of a 
smile. 

I did not say so,” cried Mrs. Weston. She certainly had not 
meant to say so. 

“ Mrs. Weston,” answered Anne, concealments are useless be- 
tween us. I know enough ; and you know of me what I thought I 
would have died rather than tell you.” 

But it must be kept very secret,” said Mrs. Weston, and halted 
here, and did not know what reason to give, except that the dreadful 
moment might be postponed as long as possible, “ for my sake and his 
father’s. It would kill his father, I believe. And, Anne, I charge 
you now with a message for the Chevalier Vaughan, if you should see 
him first, — a message which you must give him at the very first oppor- 
tunity, just as soon as you hear of his arrival in the county, — because 
something might prevent me. Tell him, for my sake, — for my sake, 
do you hear? — that he is to say nothing about what Henry did in 
Paris.” 

I will,” replied Anne. 

Mrs. Weston kissed her good-night. Her eyes were quite dry and 
bright, although tears rained down Mrs. Weston’s cheeks. As soon as 
she was gone, Anne undressed quickly and went to bed. Of course it 
was best, altogether best, that he should do right, — poor Anne felt a 
thrill of pride in Henry Weston at that very moment, — but then one 
must suffer a great deal. 


68 


HALE^WESTON. 


CHAPTER X. 

Mrs. Weston, who had never had a day’s illness in her life before, 
was very ailing after that. At least, she said she was, and spent many 
days lying on the sofa in her dressing-room, with her face turned to the 
wall, mute and hardly noticing anything. 

The uproarious welcome that would have awaited Henry Weston’s 
return to the county was somewhat damped by the state of health of 
both his father and his mother. Nevertheless, there was a round of 
visits paid him, which he returned scrupulously. Everybody remarked 
upon the very distinguished and self-possessed air he had gained in his 
travels, and a great many people said that after Algy’s little affair Mr. 
and Mrs. Weston were very lucky to have one son who must always 
be a source of pride and gratification to them. Elizabeth Brandon 
displayed to Mrs. Thorpe a superb lace handkerchief Henry Weston 
had brought her from Paris. Mrs. Thorpe, in return, showed a hand- 
some lace cap from the same source. Even the four Wickham girls 
had 6(m6on-boxes. 

How easy it is to be generous when one has a plenty of money !” 
sighed Elizabeth. 

“ But what did he bring Anne ?” inquired Mrs. Thorpe, consumed 
with curiosity. 

can’t tell, to save my life, whether he brought her anything or 
not,” answered Elizabeth, plaintively. Anne won’t say a word.” 

Depend upon it, my dear,” cried Mrs. Thorpe, triumphantly, it 
is you who are to be Mrs. Weston of Hale- Weston. I always knew it.” 

Elizabeth protested that for her part she had always liked Algy 
best, — at which Mrs. Thorpe laughed, as well she might. 

Henry Weston had, however, brought Anne something. It was a 
little heart set in rubies, — not showy, but rather costly. 

I saw it one day in a window, and I thought how well it would 
look around your neck,” he said. 

Anne accepted it, but she did not wear it around her neck. 

In those days Anne was much at Hale-Weston. If she did not go 
over every day or two, Mrs. Weston would send for her and reproach 
her gently with forgetfulness. In former days, much of their talk had 
been of Henry Weston. Now his name was never so much as men- 
tioned between them, except when it could not be avoided. Mrs. Wes- 
ton continually told Anne what a comfort she was to her. Not that 
there is any real comfort for me now,” she exclaimed, despondently, 
but because you would comfort me if you could.” And Mrs. Wes- 
ton saw that in ministering to her, Anne’s sore heart was a little soothed. 
So these two unhappy women, after the manner of their kind, drew 
near to each other without profaning with speech that common grief 
that made them kin. When Mrs. Weston lay on her sofa, weeping 
silently, Anne would sit by her, holding her hand, and not speaking ; 
but her eyes were eloquent. But for her, Mrs. Weston would have 
betrayed to them all that something fearful was preying on her, but 
Anne managed to keep them all out of the room when Mrs. Weston 
was in these fits of depression which passed for illness. At these times 


HALE-WESTON. 


69 


Henry Weston never came near his mother. Yet he expressed by look, 
and occasionally by word, his gratitude to Anne Brandon, who knew 
that not one pang his mother suffered was lost on him. Anne in no 
wise avoided him. After all, she thought, it was as well to get ac- 
customed to seeing Henry Weston intimately; and, then, his society 
still gave her a strange delight, that was not all pleasure nor yet pain, 
but was something of both. 

Nobody to see Henry Weston would have imagined him a culprit. 
He carried his head as high as ever, and was far from laying aside any 
part of his natural dignity. It is true he did not admire Anne so 
openly as he had done that first night ; he gave no occasion to anybody 
to smile at his marked gallantry towards her. But he did not avoid 
her ; nor did he fail to exert himself to please her when they met, as 
they did often and inevitably. It is not my fault,’’ he would say to 
himself, doggedly. ^‘I cannot run away from her, nor can I help 
trying to please her.” 

Meanwhile, occasional letters, ill spelled and written in very bad 
French, came to him from time to time. But of this nobody was any 
the wiser. Henry Weston was not a man to be questioned about letters 
that he either received or wrote. 

The Chevalier Vaughan had returned within a month of Henry 
Weston. A day or two after he got back he called at Sparrow Point, 
and, hearing that Elizabeth and Anne were gone to Broomhill for a 
walk, followed them there. 

The opportunity for which Anne watched closely came within an 
hour of their meeting, and while Mrs. Thorpe was showing them around 
her beautiful old-fashioned garden, rich with lilac and syringa and 
honeysuckle in the first glory of their blossoming. Anne and the 
Chevalier were standing under a tall lilac-bush, while Mrs. Thorpe 
was showing Elizabeth a new stitch in crocheting as they walked up 
and down the long garden-walk in the soft air. It was now the first 
of June. 

Chevalier,” said Anne, drawing down a blooming branch of the 
lilac, lest her face should reveal something, have you been to Hale- 
Weston yet?” 

I went yesterday, — the very day after I got home ; but Mrs. 
Weston was not well, and sent me word she would not be able to see 
me for a day or two. I shall go again to-morrow.” 

“ She desires,” said Anne, speaking very slowly, and with a vain 
effort to hide the color that surged into her cheeks, that you will not 
mention — anything — anything of importance that occurred to Henry 
Weston in Paris.” 

^'Say to her,” responded the Chevalier, after a slight pause, ‘^she 
need not have warned me. I shall maintain, as I have maintained, the 
strictest silence.” 

Thank you,” cried Anne, warmly, and then blushing still deeper. 

The Chevalier looked at her keenly. He knew something about 
women, and he guessed how the land lay there. 

The wood-violets were late in blooming that year. It looked as 
if there would be none at all. Anne was fond of them, and often she 


60 


HALE-WESTON. 


and Henry Weston as boy and girl had tramped through the meadows 
and over the still woods in the spring hunting for them. This year 
she had scarcely seen any. One day, walking along the path that led 
through the alder copse between Hale-Weston and Sparrow Point, she 
suddenly found a bunch of wood- violets at her feet. She picked them 
up. Yes, they were tied with wire-grass around a stout alder twig, 
just as she had shown Henry Weston how to tie them years ago. She 
walked back quickly to Sparrow Point, pale and agitated. In her own 
little white room she kissed them and wept over them, and then, light- 
ing the few sticks of wood that lay always in the fireplace in case of a 
chilly day, she dropped them in and watched them shrivel and smoulder 
away. 

It was some days after this that one afternoon Jake came over with 
a message from Mrs. Weston. Mistis felt kinder po’ly. Wouldn’t Miss 
Anne come over an’ spen’ de night ? 

If anybody had told Mrs. Weston, some years before, that she 
would have yearned for any other woman, — that she would have felt 
the want of her own sex and longed for womanly sympathy and com- 
panionship, — she would have laughed it to scorn. Yet that was just 
what had come to pass, as it does eventually in the life of all Eve’s 
daughters, and she suddenly found herself, in a county in which her 
whole life had been spent, without one friend to whom she could lay 
partially bare her soul, except this girl who had grown up with her 
children. The summons was frequent, but Anne never disregarded it. 

The magnolia- trees in the avenue were then in their splendor. The 
scent of their gorgeous white blossoms was all over the land. Anne, 
walking slowly along the shaded path by the side of the avenue, sud- 
denly found herself standing within two feet of Henry Weston. 

They had been alone together many times since his return ; but not 
so completely alone as this. Before, there had been Mrs. Weston lying 
on the sofa in her dressing-room, or else pacing restlessly up and down 
the porch where they sat. Toinette followed Henry Weston like a 
dog, and Maria was apt to be hovering about. But here they were 
half a mile from any human being. The low, overhanging branches of 
the forest growth on one side of the raised path shut them off completely 
on that way, while on the other, a high, green myrtle hedge had sprung 
up between the tall trunks of the magnolia-trees. The air was soft and 
balmy. It was about six o’clock, and a hush brooded over everything. 

Anne felt herself blushing and quivering as Henry Weston took 
her hand. She almost resented his coolness and self-possession. 

^‘I am on my way to Hale-Weston,” she said. 

So I knew ; and I came that I might intercept you,” he answered, 
calmly. 

Anne could hardly believe her senses. Why should he want to 
intercept her ? 

I see,” he said, with a half smile, answering her unasked question, 
you want to know why I should waylay you like this. Don’t you 
know” — after a pause — that I have sufered hell itself since I came 
back ? A man cannot always be cool and reasonable when he feels as 
I do ; and when I heard my mother’s message I fancied you would be 


HALE- WESTON. 


61 


coming along here about this time, and I knew just how you would 
look in that broad hat, and the expression in your eyes when you saw 
me. In short, I am here because sometimes you draw me so strongly 
I cannot keep away.^^ 

The color had suddenly dropped out of Anne’s cheeks. She looked 
at him with anger and resentment in her speaking face. 

Henry Weston, I know all, more — much more — than you sus- 
pect.” 

And I knew you knew all,” he replied. Don’t you think I can 
read faces — your face, Anne — a little?” 

Then you are unpardonable.” 

Wait a little,” he said, laying his hand upon her arm. ^^You 
women have no feeling for a man. You think he must not only bear 
unbearable things, but bear them silently and in patience as you do. 
Well, it is impossible. I know that I have lost you forever. I would 
if I could make amends to — to — that other woman whom I wronged 
in marrying. I mean to do right, but I cannot see you day after day 
and remain always master of myself.” 

But when you must resign — we must resign each other, it is but a 
little more to be silent about it,” said Anne, in a low voice. 

Yes, so you say, like a woman. Now, I say, like a man, although 

I must resign you, yet why should I not Good God ! do you think 

a man ever loved a woman as I love you without telling her so ?” 

You must not speak so,” cried Anne, breathlessly. 

How like a woman you talk !” answered he, smiling a grim smile 
that had no mirth in it. Always prudent, — always thinking first of 
what is right. Sometimes you talk a little wildly, you women ; but 
that is all.” 

Her heart could not but soften. What people did, and not what 
they said, was her rule of judgment. And he loved her, and was so 
unhappy. 

That is true,” she said. Women can but bear it all.” 

Anne,” he said, presently, sometimes I have reproached you. 
Had you been a little kinder — a little tenderer — to me before I left !” 

Let us not speak of that now.” 

“ You might in turn reproach me. But when I looked for a sign 
you gave none.” 

Anne could only make a gesture of silence to him as. great tears fell 
from her eyes upon the ground. 

^^It seems so long ago,” she said, after awhile. Last year we 
were like boy and girl, — perverse, capricious, trifling with our hap- 
piness, thinking that no change could ever come. And now look at us ! 

How old we are in knowledge ! — how quickly and easily the gulf ” 

She stopped, choking. 

And yet,” he said, taking her hand in his, is not this triumph ? 
Could any other man have won those words from you ? Ah, Anne, do 
not deny any more that you love me. Believe me, darling, it does not 
make us any more wretched to know that we love each other.” 

Don’t you see,” she said, stamping her foot, that we must not 
speah of it? Words are ” 


62 


HALE-WESTON. 


Nothing,” said Henry Weston, coolly. What does it signify 
whether I tell you with my eyes or my lips that I love you? Anne, 
there is a gulf between us, but we can at least call to each other across 
it for pity.” 

They had been walking slowly along the path towards Hale- Weston. 
Anne stopped all at once. 

I cannot go on. You must make some excuse for me to Mrs. 
Weston,” she said, hurriedly. 

I will remain away for to-night, if that is what you desire.” 

No ! no ! — that would never do,” cried Anne. I must return. 
I want to be alone.” 

They turned and walked along the path to Sparrow Point. It 
ended abruptly in a clump of evergreens on the border of the lawn. 

Say anything ; make any excuse. I will come to-morrow,” said 
she. Then the two poor souls stood for a minute gazing into each 
other’s hopeless eyes, and went slowly their different ways in the 
darkness. 


CHAPTER XI. 

All June and July, things were in an unsettled and tentative state 
at Hale-Weston. Mrs. Weston rallied bravely from her depression. 
Like Henry Weston, she knew something of the requirements of a 
French marriage. She sent for the Chevalier Vaughan. She canvassed 
the whole thing. When he told her that Henry Weston had taken the 
very most secure way to make his marriage legal and binding, she had 
almost shrieked with despair ; but yet it was not in her to yield to this 
despair. She hoped against hope. Something might arise. All was 
not lost as long as she could keep it secret. And she really feared 
somewhat Mr. Weston’s displeasure for Henry Weston if it should 
become known to him. So she lived with a sword over her. At what 
moment might not all become known ? She did not half understand 
why the Frenchwoman should not demand recognition. She was a 
little nervous in those days whenever she heard wheels grinding upon 
the gravelled path. It might be Jeanne ! As for that young person, 
she was as happy as she could be anywhere out of sight of the bridges 
over the Seine. True, New York, even with an uncle who had a superb 
shop, was not equal to Paris ; but then she had more money than she 
had ever handled in her life before, and enjoyed the delights of idleness. 
She could, if she chose, spend the whole day at her toilette, — which she 
very often did. In August, Henry Weston had come to New York for 
a visit, prepared, if she so required, to take her back to Virginia with 
him and face the world. Indeed, as in duty bound, he made the direct 
|)roposition to her. Jeanne, who read Henry Weston easily, saw that 
he was not anxious for the moment of revelation ; and, as she could 
stay with the Leroux in New York as long as the marriage was not 
known, she used the old arguments : it would be best to wait awhile 
before making it known, — although what they were waiting for neither 
could have told. But concealment was the bribe Henry Weston would 
accept in lieu of taking her to Virginia with him, and a plenty of 


HALE- WESTON. 63 

money and Uncle Leroux’ charming household was the bribe Jeanne 
took as the price of keeping in the background. 

Henry Weston’s visit was meant to last some weeks, — possibly 
months, — but again he was summoned by Mr. Weston’s illness. Dr. 
Peyton thought a trip to the mountains would benefit Mr. Weston, and 
Henry Weston was needed to accompany him. Dr. Peyton’s practice 
did not admit of his going, and Mrs. Weston did not feel well enough 
to undertake the fatiguing journey. As for Algy, Maria was the ob- 
stacle in the way. Mr. Weston did not care about taking her along, 
and Mrs. Weston did not desire her to be left behind. So Henry 
Weston was to take his father to the mountains, and later Mrs. Weston 
would probably join them. 

Henry Weston, therefore, after a fortnight passed in New York, 
was summoned home, and of course was obliged to go. When he saw 
the chimneys of Hale- Weston, and remembered that seven hundred 
miles separated him from the Leroux family and their guest, he felt 
something like a thrill of happiness. 

Mr. Weston, however, put off from day to day his departure. He 
told Dr. Peyton that he had some arrangements to make before going. 
Dr. Peyton understood them to be testamentary arrangements, and, 
thinking that the interests involved in so large a property ought to be 
attended to, gave him a few days’ grace. 

One morning he called to see Mr. Weston, and found him sitting 
in a big arm-chair before his iron safe in the library. 

I’m looking for a paper,” said Sandy Weston, as Dr. Peyton had 
always called him behind his back. “ There’s a paper I want to destroy 
before leaving on this journey,” he continued, feebly. “ It ought to 
have been destroyed years ago, but I actually forgot its existence. To- 
day I remembered it ; but I can’t find it, — I can’t find it,” he said, 
almost piteously. It may be in here.” He tried to turn a key which 
he produced in the lock of an inner compartment, but he had not the 
strength. Dr. Peyton’s strong fingers soon accomplished it. 

Mr. Weston examined eagerly several bundles of papers, but did 
not find what he was looking for. His face grew gray, and his hands 
trembled with the disappointment. 

I must find that paper and destroy it,” he cried, nervously. It 
would be the cause of great injustice if it were not destroyed.” 

Dr. Peyton was a kind man and a skilful doctor, but he made a 
mistake on the spot. 

Wait until to-morrow,” he said, soothingly. You are already 
fatigued and excited. Try not to think about it until to-morrow ; then 
get Henry or Algy to help you.” 

Mr. Weston submitted to have the safe locked and the key put in 
his pocket. To-morrow Henry Weston should find it for him. 

But on the morrow, as he sat on the great stone porch waiting for 
Henry Weston to return from his ride, that they might together look for 
the paper, he was so still that Mrs. Weston glanced at him uneasily as she 
paced up and down the hall with a book. His motionless attitude and 
his drawn face told it all. At that very moment the Chevalier Vaughan 
rode up to the door and dismounted from his showy iron-gray nag ; 


64 


HALE-WESTON. 


and the same moment Henry Weston appeared, riding- whip in hand. 
Mrs. Weston screamed, — a scream which brought Henry Weston to her 
like a flash and made the Chevalier bound up the stone steps three at a 
time. Henry Weston ran to his father and spoke to him : 

Father, are you ill ? Don’t you know us ?” 

With difficulty Mr. Weston managed to utter, — 

Yes.” Then, after a pause, I’m very ill. I want to say ” 

He stopped. Hector and Keziah were on the spot tjien. Put 
Jake on a horse and send him after Dr. Peyton. Take Black Prince,” 
shouted Henry Weston. 

Mr. Weston motioned feebly with his hand to the Chevalier 
Vaughan. Mrs. Weston stood with a white, scared face gazing at her 
husband. The awful and invincible solemnity of death was upon that 
commonplace face now. 

I want to say,” he continued, with a piteous effort, and sto})ping 
between each halting word, that I have — perfect confidence — in Mrs. 
Weston. Once, she angered — me — greatly. I saw her in the green- 
house — with the Chev — Chev — Vaughan. I filled in — a deed. I have 
been trying — to find it — to destroy it — and have a new one made ” 

Was his mind wandering? He could say no more, but there was 
an imploring expression in his eyes. 

Never mind, father,” said Henry. Don’t think of those things 
now.” 

They got him up to bed. In due time the doctor came. He took 
one look, and his experienced eye saw that Sandy Weston w^ould never 
speak or move again. For a day or two he lingered, speechless and 
motionless, then died. Dr. Peyton, driving along the moonlit road 
that night of Mr. Weston’s death, suddenly remembered the paper 
the dead man was so anxious to destroy. He remembered that he had 
induced him to give up the search. It troubled the excellent doctor. 

It is one of the most delicate points in a doctor’s experience to know 
how to act in those circumstances,” he almost said out aloud. How- 
ever, nobody could foresee the end was so near.” So he flicked his 
horse with the whip, and jogged along in his comfortable old-fashioned 
gig. Angela Weston once more free. This was the sum of the doctor’s 
reflections, and it staggered him. 

As for Mrs. Weston, she was at least no hypocrite. She did not 
pretend to grieve for Sandy Weston as women who love their husbands 
grieve for them. She was awed, scared, and a little remorseful. Their 
later married life had been very much more harmonious than the earlier 
part. When she came to reflect upon those last words faltered out from 
the fast paralyzing tongue, she understood them, and, understanding 
them, felt more grateful to Sandy Weston dead than she had ever felt 
to him living. He had at least done her justice; for she recollected 
with a flush of shame and anger that more than once her husband and 
herself had had w^ords about the Chevalier Vaughan. She too under- 
stood that half-intelligible reference to the little scene in the greenhouse, 
which, though trifling and unconsequential enough, had yet borne evil 
fruit. The bitterest quarrel of their lives had followed between An- 
gela Weston and her husband after that. 


HALE-WESTON. 


65 


The funeral was very stately, — it is apt to be when the survivors 
dread lest they should be charged with neglect if it should be other- 
wise, — and after that the widow and her children settled down quietly 
at Hale- Weston to spend the first months of their mourning. 

Not so quietly, however, did the county settle down. What was to 
become of the great Hale- Weston estate, with its five hundred negroes, 
its vast wheat- and corn-fields ? — it was the largest granary of all those 
lowland Virginia plantations which, before Dakota wheat and Minne- 
sota flour were heard of, supplied the markets of America. The future 
of Hale-Weston was canvassed not only over Mrs. Thorpe’s tea-table, 
but all the tea-tables round about. One thing, however, was settled. 
If things were not left as Mrs. Weston desired, she would simply take 
her dower and live on at Hale-Weston; and if she determined, as 
everybody knew she would, that Henry AVeston should have Hale- 
Weston, she could very easily manage it. What with her own interest, 
and Henry’s interest, and Toinette’s until she was of age, the Hale- 
Weston house and enough of the land could be secured to Henry Wes- 
ton to make a very imposing property, even against Algy’s opposition, 
if indeed he should oppose it at ail. Mr. Weston had invested the ac- 
cretions of an originally handsome property in outlying land that easily 
produced seventeen bushels of wheat to the acre. There was enough 
land and negroes and valuable stock and money in bank to make the 
widow and each of the children rich. Of this, all was the result of the 
ex-overseer’s savings and management, except three hundred acres of 
broom-sedge and wire-grass, with a four-roomed house on it, known as 
Shabby Hall. This had been the maiden property of Mrs. Weston’s 
mother. When old Colonel Weston had been dealing out mortgages 
and liens and all sorts of encumbrances on Hale-Weston and everything 
else he owned in the world, he had actually forgotten Shabby Hall : 
so that when the crash came, and Levi Cohen, who had never material- 
ized except as a dummy for Sandy Weston, had bought Hale-Weston, 
the colonel and his wife had retired to Shabby Hall, and ended their 
days there shortly after. Shabby Hall, therefore, was Mrs. Angela 
Weston’s. It had remained very much as the poor old couple had left 
it. The furniture was not good enough for Hale-AVeston, and was 
hardly worth selling. It might do for Algy and Maria to begin house- 
keeping with, if the house were raised a story and added to. Indeed, 
the threat of Shabby Hall had been held over Maria ever since her 
marriage. 

The death of Mr. Weston made no difference in Anne Brandon’s 
visits. She went, if anything, oftener, as Mrs. Weston frequently sent 
for her and seemed to take pleasure in Anne’s society. There was no 
pretence of excessive grief about Mrs. Weston, but nobody could say 
she did not observe the proprieties. The Chevalier Vaughan, of course, 
only came there formally and unfrequently. She was awed and fright- 
ened. She could with truth say that she very much wished she might 
wake up and find everything in the past year a bad dream. To get 
back to the old, easy, proud, careless, happy way with her would have 
been great gain. The Rev. Mr. Steptoe moderated his voice, put on 
his most clerical-looking coat, and called on the widow, to whom he 
VoL. XLIII.— 6 


66 


HALE-WESTON. 


administered much conventional Bible lore in the way of consolation. 
He came away with a much better opinion of Mrs. Weston than he 
had carried with him. Mrs. Weston was really much more sincerely 
sorry for her husband’s death than he expected to find her. Such was 
Mr. Steptoe’s inward comment. 

But, as the months wore on, Mrs. Weston began to feel anxious 
about the property. Not a word was said by either of her sons. Each 
had a liberal allowance, and the sale of the wheat-crop supplied them 
with a fund so considerable that there was no pinching for money. 
Still, Mrs. Weston felt anxious, as people will when there are hundreds 
of thousands of dollars in the balance. 

When Mr. Weston had been dead some months, Mr. Wickham, the 
lawyer who had always attended to his affairs, was sent for one day by 
the widow. The long-delayed search for the will must begin. Mr. 
Wickham thought it quite right, and then and there, in the presence 
of Henry and Algernon, the iron safe was opened and the papers sorted 
out. 

Two only were found to involve in any way the different interests 
of the family, — or rather one, for the other was a parchment deed 
signed and sealed, and on it was scrawled, in Mr. Weston’s ungainly 
handwriting, To be opened in the event of my death,” and a date 
nearly twenty years before. The other was the memorandum of a will. 

At this Mrs. Weston was cruelly disappointed. She had hoped and 
believed that Mr. Weston would make a will securing Hale-Weston to 
Henry, although she knew enough to feel very certain that things could 
be arranged so that he would be eventually master of the place. But, 
like many men, Mr. Weston delayed entering upon a business which 
reminded him of his mortality. The paper, which the lawyer glanced 
at to see what it was, was carefully written, interlined, and in every 
way showed considerable thought. It was determined that on the 
following day the papers should be read, the seal of the first one 
remaining unbroken until then. 

Mr. Wickham asked if they wished any one present except himself. 
Both Henry and Algy left it absolutely to their mother, who said she 
would like to have Dr. Peyton, — why, she could not say, — and on the 
morning of the next day she sent for Anne Brandon. 

Anne went without knowing what was to take place. When she 
arrived and found out, she expressed a wish to remain up-stairs during 
the formality ; but Mrs. Weston asked her, with tears in her eyes, to 
go down with her. 

“ I feel so shaken of late,” she said. I am growing cowardly. 
If there should be anything painful or unexpected in those papers, I 
want a woman — not Maria — near me. Toinette is too young.” 

So Anne went, willing and yet unwilling. Down-stairs in the 
library sat Mr. Wickham and Algy and Maria, with Dr. Peyton. 
Henry Weston brought his mother in, and Toinette, clutching Anne 
nervously, walked behind them. 

Although Mrs. Weston had said she was ill for the last six months, 
it was more a sickness of the soul than of the body. She had not been 
happy, so she fancied she was not well. But her complexion had never 


HALE-WESTON. 


67 


been clearer, nor the charming outlines of her face more noticeable. 
Her simple but elegant trailing black gown only set off her matured 
beauty. 

After they were all seated, Mr. Wickham cleared his throat and 
began. 

The paper that he held before him, and which, being unsealed and 
a mere memorandum, he had examined before reading, was a very clear 
and explicit statement of the late Mr. Weston^s testamentary intentions. 
But yet it was not a will. It was neither signed nor witnessed. It 
was a complete draught of one; but from the lateness of various altera- 
tions in it — some only a few days before Mr. Weston’s death — he feared 
there was no copy duly authenticated in existence. Search had failed to 
find any. He would say, though, that, except certain specifications and 
particulars regarding how it was to be carried out, the disposition of the 
property, such as Mr. Weston had indicated in this memorandum, was 
precisely what the law would have done. Many people, of whom he 
was one, and Mr. Weston perhaps another, thought the law usually 
made the best will. So that, although no will had been found, unless 
indeed the sealed paper he held should be one, — which he thought not, 
— by following the directions contained in the memorandum a very 
just and equitable distribution of the property could be made. So far, 
all was satisfactory. Then the big red seal of the other paper was 
broken, and Mr. Wickham began to read it aloud. 

Both Mrs. Weston and Henry Weston listened with more of curi- 
osity than interest. It was a deed to Hale- Weston and much besides. 
The land, buildings, stock, and equipments of the place were described, 
also the Highlands property which had just been bought, — everything, 
in short, of which Mr. Weston had been possessed at the date of writing, 
nearly twenty years before, and apparently all that might accrue from 
those possessions; and it conveyed to Alexander Weston, from Levi 
Cohen, a great fortune in detail, — but to Alexander Weston as trustee 
for Algernon Weston. Mr. Wickham, who had read along in a clear, 
monotonous voice, suddenly stopped and caught his breath with a gasp. 
An electric shiver seemed to run through all the little group at this 
strange mention of Algy’s name first, except Mrs. Weston. She looked 
around impatiently and raised her hand in command. 

Go on,” she said. 

The lawyer’s business-like self-possession was shaken. He hesitated 
for a moment, and glanced at Henry Weston, who seemed to foresee 
what was to follow as strangely as his mother seemed to feel no appre- 
hension. 

Will you kindly proceed ?” he said, in a cool voice. 

Mr. Wickham began again : it was some little time before he 
brought himself back to the same tone in which he began the reading : 

To Algernon Weston, second son of Alexander Weston, Esquire, 

and Angela, his wife, of Hale- Weston, in the county of , for his 

sole use and advantage, with liberty to buy, sell,” etc., — and all the 
legal verbiage in which this was made sure and fast. 

In the dead pause that followed, when everything swam before 
Algy’s eyes, and Henry Weston hardly knew whether he were waking 


HALE-WESTON. 


or dreaming, Mrs. Weston did not take it in, at all. She even had 
difficulty in placing the name of Levi Cohen, so little familiar was she 
with it. Nobody spoke for five minutes. Then Mrs. Weston said, — 

But, I understand, nothing can prevent me from having a third 
of all my husband’s property if I choose to claim it ?” 

Certainly not,” said the lawyer, gently, trying to make her under- 
stand. But, so far as we know now, Mr. Weston owned no property. 
He was a trustee. This deed enumei:ates all the property of every kind 
that we know at present Mr. Weston was supposed to own. This paper 
is very comprehensive. It gives the usufruct and all the accretions.^ 
It seems designed to embrace not only all Mr. Weston was supposed to 
possess, but all he might at any future time become possessed of.” 

He could not say, in the house of the dead man, and before his 
widow and children, that he believed Sandy Weston to have been a 
thorough-going scoundrel, and that the deed was a fraud in effect 
though not in act. Dr. Peyton, cut to the heart with remorse, re- 
membering with keenest anguish the conversation he had with Mr. 
Weston, knew that he had repented, — that could he have had a little 
more of life this frightful wrong would have been remedied. 

Mrs. Weston asking, with pale lips, but still perfectly composed, of 
Mr. Wickham, “ Will you not explain it further to me ?” the lawyer 
said, still with great gentleness, — 

“ Mr. Weston seems from this to have merely held this property as 
trustee.” Turning the paper over, he examined it carefully. It was 
probably — -I may say positively, for here is the date — written not 
many years after the time he acquired — or was supposed to acquire — 
the property. He seems to have kept it some years, because a space 
was left for the introduction of a name. On the outside you will see 
it is endorsed with a later date ; and it corresponds with the intro- 
duction of the name of Mr. Algernon Weston. Here it is : ‘ May 24, 
18W” 

Something in the date struck Mrs. Weston forcibly. She remem- 
bered the Chevalier Vaughan returned from a trip to Europe that 
spring. May, — was it not in May the time he kissed her hand ? — and 
the greenhouse ! Ah, how plain it was ! Was ever any mortal creature 
so punished for such a fault ! And what had not Sandy Weston said 
to her that day ! — what would he not have said to her, had she not 
cowed him into silence by a wrath that terrified herself as much as it 
terrified him ! His revenge was slow, but it was complete. Then his 
face, ashy and distorted, rose up, as he looked that last morning on the 
porch. She saw him before her so plainly she could not see anybody 
else, and he was so lately dead that her anger could not hold. Again 
she saw him in his grave-clothes, meek with the terrible meekness of 
death. Yes, perhaps she was to blame a little. And then the words he 

had tried to say the day he was stricken And as she sat, outwardly 

calm and erect, those who knew not the tempest of her soul thought 
her self-possession the most wonderful thing they had ever seen in their 
lives. 

Presently she heard Dr. Peyton saying, in a voice that sounded to 
her far away, — 


HALE-WESTON. 


69 


I think it my duty to state that the day before IVIr. Weston’s last 
attack I found him in this room searching in his safe for a paper which 
he told me he wished to destroy. He said, ^ Great injustice will result 
if that paper is not destroyed.’ I urged him to wait until the next day 

to find it. He agreed ; and I may blame myself that ” Here the 

poor doctor stopped, choking with emotion. But for him, Mrs. Angela 
Weston might not now be sitting like a statue before him, ruined, pen- 
niless, and humiliated. 

‘‘We must find out,” said Mr. Wickham, “whether Levi Cohen is 
alive.” 

“ He is dead,” said Mrs. Weston, in a cold, calm voice. “He has 
been dead for more than twelve years, I now remember.” 

Next Henry spoke : “ Unfortunate as it is for our mother, it would 
be an undeserved outrage to my brother Algernon to assume that he 
would fail to provide suitably and liberally for her and my sister.” 

Algy glanced at Maria, as he usually did before answering. 

“ Of course,” he said. 

Mrs. Weston turned and looked at him. Her eyes travelled from 
his ungainly feet up to his sandy poll. No, Algernon was a hopeless 
case. Weak without being vicious, an arrant coward, and absolutely 
dominated by the pretty shrew who had married him, nothing could be 
hoped from him, — nothing, at least, without Maria’s consent,— and Mrs. 
Weston had too much knowledge of human nature to expect generosity 
from a fawning subordinate suddenly elevated over the heads of those on 
whom she has fawned. Too much sitting with her back to the horses, 
too much eating of the necks and scrags of chickens, too much making 
over of other people’s old finery for herself, had entirely overcome 
Maria’s moral sense. 

Mrs. Weston rose. 

“My son, will you give me your arm? Come, Toinette : Anne' 
will take you,” she said. 

As Henry Weston, very tall and straight, although his face was 
even more deadly pale than his mother’s, escorted her out of the room 
on his arm, Mr. Wickham made the most malapropos* speech of his 
life. 

“Don’t tell me,” said he, addressing an audience composed of 
Maria and Algy, — for the poor doctor had slipped out with Mrs. 
Weston and Henry, — “ that there is no difference between a scrub and 
a thoroughbred. Scrubs are scrubs ; and thoroughbreds are thorough- 
breds.” 


CHAPTER XII. 

The county, which had always depended greatly upon Hale- Weston 
for its sensations, found the last one the most tragically interesting of 
all that had occurred since old Colonel Weston had marched out, leaving 
behind him his only child, Angela, married to his ninth-cousin Sandy 
Weston. The commotion that was raised after that meeting that took 
place in the library is hardly to be described. The old whisperings 
about the Chevalier Vaughan were revived, and a hurricane of talk 


70 


HALE- WESTON. 


raged from one end of the county to the other. The status of the 
case was of course perfectly well understood. There was no ground 
for a legal contest. Mr. Weston w^as simply a trustee for the great 
fortune he was supposed to own, and the owner thereof, Levi Cohen, 
had selected Algy Weston to become the future master. Also of 
course everybody knew — or thought to know — jifSt the circumstances 
under which the deed was made. Mr. Weston in his early life was 
somewhat given to shady transactions : the whole transaction regarding 
Hale-Weston and Levi Cohen and the old colonel was suspicious ; but 
it was within the letter of the law. Afterwards, when Mr. Weston 
had become — let us hope — a better man, these things were forgotten ; 
but they came back to plague those he left behind. It was also settled 
in the minds of the county people that, for decency's sake, Algy Weston 
and his wife would not stint Mrs. Angela during her lifetime, nor 
Toinette. They were not so sure how Henry Weston w^ould fare; 
but, anyhow, he had Shabby Hall, — or could have it, as Algy would 
scarcely make a claim to any share of that inconsiderable property. 
This very arrangement occurred to Henry Weston, on the day he first 
knew his fate, as, after leaving his mother in her room, he walked far 
down into the woods, that he might study this new and awful event. 
He had fostered the idea so pleasing to him of being eventually Weston 
of Hale-Weston. His mother's pride and confidence in him had not 
been without its fruit ; and the descent was calculated to appall him. 
But he perceived in himself no diminution of his own respect. Nor 
could he bring himself to accept anything from Algy and Maria ; for 
he had not lived in the house with his new sister-in-law six months for 
nothing. In fact, he had suggested to his mother only a day or two 
before that it would be better for her own comfort to have the young 
couple established elsewhere. He had even — ^grotesquely enough, it 
seemed to him then — suggested Shabby Hall, generously proposing, 
however, that the old house should be handsomely and comfortably im- 
proved. Now he would be the one to go to Shabby Hall, and he felt 
quite sure that no improvements would be mentioned by either Algy or 
Maria. But bis mother and Toinette weighed upon him. He felt no 
false sense of obligation in what Algy might do for them. It was 
Algy's privilege, as well as his obligation, to provide liberally for his 
mother and sister out of the great property that ought to have been 
theirs. But he doubted ; he doubted. 

He sat down on a log on the edge of a bubbling spring far in the 
woods, and tried to take in what had happened. He did not very 
well understand what poverty was, having never made its acquaintance. 
It seemed to him a mortifying and uncomfortable thing to be living 
poorly at Shabby Hall, but nothing a man might not bear manfully. 
Even at that moment he thought, if Anne Brandon were his wife he 
would have something to make Shabby Hall endurable. But Jeanne ! 
He remembered that when the wheat -ca-op had been sold his half-yearly 
allowance had been lodged in bank for him. There was no shanie in 
his using the remainder of that. When that was gone, he did not 
know how it would be. Then that other pang about the Chevalier 
Yaughan, — that alone wrung a groan from Henry Weston's breast. 


EALE-WESTON. 71 

Towards dusk he wended his way homeward. As he entered the 
Hale- Weston house he met Anne going out. He stopped her. 

“ Will you not stay for my mother’s sake?” he asked. 

Anne shook her head. “ I can’t,” she said. “ I, too, suifer. I 
will try to come back in a day or two, but — it is too hard : I cannot 
stand any more to-day.” • 

And it was for him that this brave creature suffered. He pressed 
her hand in his. 

Shabby Hall with you would be better than Hale- Weston with 
any other woman,” he said. 

Mrs. Weston that evening roused herself from the stupor in which 
she had lived since the mid-day. She made a careful toilette, and went 
down to tea, and took her place, stately and composed, at the head of 
the table. Henry took his usual place since his father’s death, at the 
foot. Algy and Maria, the master and mistress, sat on the side, as did 
little Toinette. Afterwards, Mrs. Weston sat a little while in the 
drawing-room, and talked as she generally did, gave a few orders in 
her usual distinct voice, and went up-stairs presently on Henry’s 
arm. 

At her own door he left her, and went to his room. He sent Jake 
out, who was lying asleep on the rug before the fire, and then seated 
himself in an arm-chair and fixed his eyes on the cheerful blaze. 
Presently the door opened softly, and old Keziah entered, and took up 
her stand next the fireplace. 

“Do you want anything of me?” said Henry Weston, rousing 
himself from the revery into which he had fallen. 

“ No, honey, I doan’ want nuttin’ ’tall. But I hed ter come in dis 
night an’ talk to you. Hit meek me think ’bout de time ole marse and 
ole missis dey went ter Shabby Hall fum Hale- Weston. Hector an’ 
me went wid ’em. When dey died, an’ we come back ter dis side o’ 
de crick, you was a leetle black-eyed boy, alius under de bosses’ heels 
an’ a-tumblin’ in de crick. Marse Algy he set down anywhar’ you 
put him, an’ he never move.” 

“ He must have been much the most agreeable youngster,” said 
Henry, with a slight smile. 

A look of infinite contempt came into Keziah’s honest black face. 
She continued, carefully avoiding Algy’s name : 

“ I ain’t forgot ole marse an’ missis, but I ain’t thought on ’em like 
I has dis day sence dey went away. Seems like I c’yarn git ’em out o’ 
my min’. I hear ole marse, he bawl ‘ Keziah !’ twell you could hear 
him at de ice-house, and little missy — dat’s yo’ ma, — she lisp when she 
was a leetle gal, — she say, ‘ Kethiah !’ You looks mighty like ole marse, 
— ’cep’ Hector he ’low you got heap mo’ sense. Ole marse he were a 
man, dough, sho’ ’nuff. I rek’lec’ when he went ter Shabby Hall all 
de quality- folks in de county dey call fer ter pay dey respec’s.” 

Henry felt that every word she uttered was an implied reproach to 
his own parents. Yet he could not but listen. He had never been able 
to get much about his grandparents out of his father and mother. 

“ De quality come in de kerridges, an’ dey come o’ hossback. Hit 
discomfuse me when I couldn’ ban’ de waiter roun’ wid de cake an’ 


72 


HALE- WESTON. 


wine ’kase de warn’t no cake an’ wine, but dey come all de same. 
’Twas mighty disqualifying ter Hector, too, ’kase he didn’ have no 
stable fer ter put de bosses in when cump’ny come. But dey kep’ on 
cornin’.” 

She paused a little, going back to that dead-and-gone time of 
poverty and humiliation. 

“ Arf’ missis died, ole marse he teck off he blue coat wid de brass 
buttons an’ he give it ter Hector. Hector he got dat coat now. Ole 
marse he w’yar a black coat he had. ’Twas mighty shabby and white 
at de seams. I ink de seams ev’y Sunday fo’ he go ter chu’ch. An’ 
all de quality, dey would wait fur ole marse outside de chu’ch do’, an’ 
dey shake he han’, an’ dey say, ^ Howdy, colonel ? Hopes you is 
well? May I hev de pledger of yo’ cump’ny fur dinner Tuesday — er 
Wednesday?’ — ’kase he could ’a’ gone visitin’ ev’y day; but he didu’ 
go nowhar. Den, ’bout two monts arf’ missis die, one day he say to 
Hector, ‘ Take me ter bed, boy. I ain’t got ter stay here long.’ ’Twas 
snow on de groun’, an’ yo’ ma she was sick an’ couldn’t git ter Shabby 
Hall, an’ yo’ pa ” 

Here she paused awkwardly. 

Ole marse was sorter onfrien’ly ter yo’ pa. He jes’ lay d’yar, 
an’ he warn’t in no pain. He jes’ was kinder sleepy. An’ one night 
I had done tole Hector if ole marse didn’ git no better by mornin’ I 
was gwine ter come over ter Hale- Weston an’ tell yo’ ma she oiighter 
sen’ fur Doc’ Peyton. I was settin’ by de fire, an’ Hector he set by de 
bed, an’ I thought bofe on ’em was ’sleep, when ole marse he set up in 
de bed, an’ call out, ^ Hector, has you got de lantern ?’ Hector he wake 
up wid a snort. When ole marse went a-fox-h untin’ missis alius meek 
Hector c’yar a lantern, ’kase, cornin’ home at night, when dey ride ober 
de bridge down at de head o’ de lane ole marse could see. Dat was a 
mighty dange’ous bridge den, an’ ole marse he w^ouldn’t have dat bridge 
fix’. He say ’tain’t nuttin’ de matter wid de bridge. An’ missis she 
could see de lantern fum de house when Hector flash hit, an’ she know 
den ole marse was a-comin’. So Hector, when ole marse call out, he 
look at me, an’ bofe knowed what was gwine ter happen. Wheu sick 
folks ’gins ter talk ’bout lights an’ sich, hit’s a sho’ sign dey’s a-gwine 
ter die. Hector he say, kinder skeered, ^ Yes, sir, I done got de lan- 
tern.’ Den ole marse he pitch an’ toss on de piller, an’ he say, ‘ Hit’s 
mighty dark here. Hector, hoi’ de lantern up.’ An’ Hector he say, 
solemn like, ^ Marster, de Lord done tooken de lantern now. He 
gwine make it light fur you.’ I hed on a clean white ap’on, an’ I took 
an’ wipe he forehead, an’ ’twas damp. Pres’n’y ole marse he git fretful, 
an’ say, ‘ Hit’s slow work gittin’ home to-night. Yo’ mistis ’ll blow 
us both up, hay, boy?’ An’ Hector he say, de same way, ‘ Yo’ is gittin’ 
home fas’, marster, an’ ole missis is waitin’. Ain’t it gittin’ lighter, 
marster?’ An’ ole marse he say, ^Yes, boy, hit’s a heap lighter.’ 
An’ ’fo’ mornin’ he was dade.” 

Henry Weston listened without losing a word. All the details he 
could easily supply, — the poor colonel, aged and broken, the outspoken 
sympathy on the part of the county people, the old man’s lonely death- 
bed, with only the faithful serving man and woman. Well, it was to 


HALE- WESTON. 


73 


be expected that those who acquired Hale- Weston from the poor colonel 
should some day lose it. Only, he lost it for Algy to gain it. 

Keziah drew up a cricket and seated herself by the fireplace. How 
long they had sat there in silence Henry Weston knew not. Presently 
a tap came at the door. Hector stood outside. 

My marster,’’ said he, I come ter ask ef I couldn’t bresh yo’ 
close, er git yo’ hot water.” Hector, being the major-domo, had never 
done this for anybody since Henry Weston could remember. 

Certainly not,” said he, good-humoredly. Where is Jake ?” 

“ Heah I is, Marse Henry,” replied Jake, running in. 

Jake pulled off his master’s boots, Keziah fetched his dressing- 
gown, and Hector carried off his coat in triumph to bresh.” They 
all knew what had happened. It was their humble way of paying him 
respect. 

Quite naturally, it was understood that the sooner an understand- 
ing was reached in regard to the affairs of the Hale- Weston family the 
better. Algy readily agreed to make his mother a liberal allowance. 
Mr. Wickham seized the opportunity to put it in binding legal form, 
and thought it well to instruct Mrs. Weston in advance as to the best 
means of getting it in case it was not promptly paid. Algy made mag- 
nificent but vague offers of assistance to Henry, which were all de- 
clined, except the conveyance of any interest he might have in Shabby 
Hall. Then Hector and Keziah announced that they meant to go over 
to Shabby Hall with little marse.” Jake had already proclaimed 
that he ’longed ter Marse Henry. De law giv’ a gentmun he body- 
sarvint.” This original view of the question was not, in effect, dis- 
puted. Neither Algy nor Maria would have had the face, if indeed 
they had the inclination, to object. Regarding Hector and Keziah, as 
servants brought up in the family and occupying responsible places 
during three generations. Hector and Keziah had a certain independence 
of opinion. Both, to the surprise and disgust of Algy and Maria, 
packed up bag arrd baggage and went over to Shabby Hall some days 
before Henry Weston made his final move. Hector had been butler, 
factotum, and what not for so many years at Hale- Weston, and Keziah 
had occupied a like position in the feminine department for an equal 
length of time, that their loss was a serious inconvenience to the new 
master and mistress. Henry reasoned with them to induce them to re- 
turn, but they flatly refused. It would have required force, and would 
also have involved a scandal, to get them back, for family servants 
were treated with considerable respect in those days : so, unpleasant as 
it was for Algy and Maria, they took no steps to get them back. Mrs. 
Weston laughed quietly when she heard of their hegira. It was the 
first time she had laughed since that fatal day in the library. 

In less than two weeks Henry Weston was ready to go to Shabby 
Hall. He intended to keep the actual hour of his departure a secret 
from the servants, but Jake and Hector and Keziah had taken care that 
they should be informed. His horse was saddled and standing before 
the door when the field-hands came in at twelve o’clock. Without 
a word every one of them came quietly — over a hundred men, farm- 
hands, teamsters, blacksmiths, wheelwrights, — all the laborers among 


74 


HALE-WESTON. 


five hundred negroes — and stood about on the steps and the gravelled 
walk to tell little marse’^ good-by. Then a great crowd of women 
and children hung on the outskirts. Henry Weston could not help but 
pass through them. He shook hands silently with every one. Sobs 
were heard from the women-servauts about the house, as they peered 
out of doors and windows, wiping their eyes on their aprons. The men 
said, Good-by, Marse Henry,’^ Gord bless you, little marse 
Doan’ furgit Josh dat useter play de fiddle fur you,” Doan’ furgit 
Torm an’ Jim Henry, please, sir,” Heah’s ole Mose, come fer ter 
wish you well,” — all the primitive and touching farewells their simple 
hearts could think of. First it was meant as a tribute of respect to the 
man they had hoped would own them, and secondly as an implied slight 
to their present master, whom they did not regard as wholly a gentle- 
man. The taint of “ po’ white trash” survived in Algy. There is no 
such aristocrat living as your full-blooded African. 

Mrs. Weston, watching the scene from her chamber window, laughed 
the quiet mirthless laugh with which she had greeted the news of 
Hector’s and Keziah’s high-handed doings. And Henry Weston, with 
his eyes dimmed by the first tears of his manhood, rode slowly out of 
the magnolia avenue towards the little weather-beaten house a mile 
away. Hale- Weston was nevermore to be his. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

When Henry Weston reached Shabby Hall, and Jake had taken 
his horse at the door, he strode in and looked around. First was the 
narrow and squalid passage, in contrast to the noble entrance-hall of 
Hale- Weston. To the right and the left were small rooms. Henry 
Weston entered the left-hand room at a venture. It had been the dining- 
and sitting-room of Colonel and Mrs. Weston in their last days. A 
stained mahogany table, a few rickety chairs, and an old clock over the 
high wooden mantel comprised the furniture. A square of rag-carpet 
was on the floor. But in the fireplace a fire of hickory logs was leaping 
and blazing. It was the only cheerful thing in the room. Henry 
Weston drew up his grandfather’s arm-chair to the hearth, and, throw- 
ing himself in it, looked straight before him. He did not know what 
he was thinking about. All that he had lost was present to him, — all 
the shame and humiliation that had befallen him, all that might Wall. 
He knew not how long he had sat there, — only that night was falling. 

After a while Jake came in, and, lighting a candle on the table, took 
from behind the clock a letter. 

*^Dis heah letter I got out’n de Hale-Weston mail,” be said, and 
went out, — for Jake knew that his master got but few letters, and those 
always disturbed him. 

Henry Weston recognized the awkward, sprawling hand. Yes, it 
was Jeanne’s. Only this was wanting to make his misery and down- 
fall complete. Something of the man’s involuntary courage made him 
break it open at once, without dallying with it. 

The letter was short : 


HALE-WESTON. 


75 


<<My Friend, — We have been miserable together. For my part, 
I could not endure the idea of having to live in the country, which is 
sad at all seasons. I like gayety and life. You will be glad to know 
that you need send me no more money. When this reaches you I shall 
be on my way back to Paris. My cousin Adolphe goes with me. You 
will not be able to kill him, because we have taken precautions that you 
may not find out who and where we are. I thank you for the diamonds, 
which I will keep in grateful remembrance. You will never see or hear 
of me any more. 

Jeanne.” 

Some hours after that, Jake crept into the room. He had intended 
to replenish the fire, which had gone out, but when he caught sight of 
Henry Weston sitting in the same place, with one clinched fist on the 
table, he hastily shut the door, and vanished. 

As for Henry Weston, the rage and despair of those first hours had 
prevented him from thinking connectedly ; but when, later in the night, 
the first fury had spent itself^ the necessity for vengeance appeared ; for, 
according to the code in which he had been schooled, he must kill the 
man who had taken his worthless wife away from him. He could not 
else be admitted to the society of honorable men. Of course he must 
follow them, — they would not be so hard to find as they imagined, — 
but it could not be done without some forethought ; and this planning 
he found himself unable to do. And then it came to him gradually 
that the killing of the man who had dishonored his wife would not be 
enough. Was it not his duty to slay also that other man for what had 
been brought upon his mother? And so this distracted and infuriated 
Henry Weston, this once brave, handsome, light-hearted man, sat and 
revolved murder in his heart. 

All that night and the next day this terrible vengeance possessed 
him. It seemed as if he had known nothing but the falseness and 
wickedness of men and women all his life. Who, of them all, was not 
a traitor? Anne Brandon — but he put the thought of her away from 
him. In the madness to which he had surrendered himself, the thought 
of her was discordant. But for her, he could have pronounced the 
whole world bad, — as bad as he knew himself to be at that moment. 
And had not she, too, injured him? So when she obtruded on his 
thoughts he drove her image away with curses. But then there was a 
strange dulness and numbness in all his faculties. He said to himself 
each hour that he would rouse himself, — that the work appointed for 
him to do was waiting. Something must be done at once. He vaguely 
remembered that money would be necessary, and he must see Mr. Wick- 
ham. And yet he could get no further than that. The dreadful details 
of the tracking of this man and this woman escaped him while they 
weighed upon him, and suddenly the strange and deadly conviction that 
he had two crimes to avenge flashed fully upon him. He almost laughed 
at the idea that he should begin a chase of many thousand miles after 
this curly-headed, greasy little hair-dresser, with the Chevalier Vaughan 
within five miles of him ; and the Chevalier’s was the greater crime, he 
thought. For what had not the bare suspicion brought upon him. 


76 


HALE-WESTON. 


Henry Weston, and his mother ! All the slight suspicions he had ever 
harbored in his life came back to him, startlingly magnified. What had 
he been thinking of, to let this man go on, happy and popular and rich 
and contented, with that awful reckoning yet unsettled ? In dwelling 
on this thought, so immediate, of so long standing, he almost forgot 
the little hair-dresser. He knew not if it were hours or days after the 
letter had come that he saw Dr. Peyton walking into the dreary little 
sitting-room. He heard the doctor’s voice as if in a mist, far away. 
He was saying, — 

I called to see how you were getting on. This isn’t a bad situa- 
tion. It’s healthy. Never heard of a case of fever and ague in my 
life here.” 

Henry Weston replied mechanically, something, he knew not what. 
The doctor continued, with awkward sympathy, — 

You ought to observe regular hours. A ride to-day would do 
you good.” 

I am going to Berry Hill this evening,” replied Henry Weston, 
quietly. 

The doctor stayed half an hour. He had expected to find Henry 
Weston somewhat altered by the misfortunes that had fallen upon 
him, but he was totally unprepared for what he saw. Henry Weston’s 
look and manner had so changed, and the change was so terrible, that 
Dr. Peyton verily believed that Henry Weston was on the verge of 
some great mental or physical collapse. His manner was singularly 
composed, and his attention was alert, but he looked gaunt and pallid 
beyond description. Yet his hand as he clasped the doctor’s was burn- 
ing hot. Dr. Peyton, after riding as far as the lane gate, stopped his 
horse, and turned half around. He deliberated five or ten minutes. 
Then he whipped up his horse and rode on, but not into the main 
road. He struck the disused wagon-road and went to Hale-Weston. 

When he reached the house it was nearly dark. He dismounted, 
and, knocking at the door, was admitted. He went straight towards 
Mrs. Weston’s sitting-room, where he knocked also. Mrs. Weston lay 
on a sofa, covered up. 

The doctor sat down, and talked cheerfully to her for a few 
moments. . 

“Have you seen my son?” presently asked Mrs. Weston. Now, 
more than ever, was Henry Weston “ my son.” 

“ Yes,” replied the doctor, with elaborate nonchalance. “ I stopped 
at Shabby Hall just now. He looks badly, of course. He has been 
under a great mental strain. He is going up to Berry Hill to spend 
the night, I think, and I am going too. I’ve some patients that will 
keep me in this neighborhood all day to-morrow.” 

“Going to Berry Hill?” 

Mrs. Weston’s voice, always sweet and bell-like, had something 
mournful in it that touched Dr. Peyton deeply. Angela Weston’s 
sorrows had always touched him. 

“ Yes. It will do him good,” said the doctor, and continued to 
make talk for an hour more. He had called to see how Mrs. Weston 
was, and was glad she was improving. He would warn Henry to take 


HALE-WESTON. 


77 


care of himself. For — for/^ said the doctor, awkward and trembling, 

he is dear to me, — dear to me. I do not know how people feel towards 
their children, but my heart yearned over him this afternoon as if he 
had been my own.’^ 

Mrs. Weston took his hand between her two soft palms, and looked 
at him without speaking ; but the doctor read volumes in her -dark and 
expressive eyes. 

But Berry Hill ?’’ she said, presently. I am not superstitio is, 
but — pray go there to-night.” 

As the doctor, in the fast-coming night, rode out of Hale-Weston 
with a heavy heart, he stopped and did as if he would turn back, just 
as he had done at Shabby Hall ; but he did not turn back. He put his 
horse in a sharp canter, and soon covered the five miles to Berry Hill. 

As he dismounted for the third time that afternoon, the Chevalier 
Vaughan appeared upon the porch in the ruddy light from the hall 
within. The rain had begun to fall, and the Chevalier hurried the 
doctor inside. Almost immediately the storm increased. The doctor 
shook off a few rain-drops. 

Hear that,” said the Chevalier, as the blast rose. You were 
lucky to escape it.” 

^‘Very,” said the doctor. 

Peter, the Chevalier’s factotum, was on the spot, and began to pull 
off the doctor’s leggings. Instead of sitting down. Hr. Peyton stood 
up, supporting himself with his hand against the wall. Suddenly a 
bell pealed mournfully once or twice, as if above the roof immediately 
over them. 

Hr. Peyton started, and Peter dropped the leg he was tugging at. 
The negro’s face turned ashy. “ ’Fore Gord,” he cried, dat’s de ’larm- 
bell ! It ain’t rung afore sence de fire.” 

It is nothing,” cried the Chevalier, with something Hr. Peyton 
thought was nervousness. ‘^It is an alarm-bell, — a useful thing to 
have on the plantation. The bell-rope I keep knotted up in that 
corner ; but, as you see, it has become untied, and your hand grasped 
it. — Peter, tie that bell-rope up, sir !” 

Peter placed a chair, and began to tie up the rope in many and hard 
knots. 

He fire warn’t de las’ time dis bell done ring, sho’ ’nuff. When 
old marse die, dey rung it for de funeral ” 

You rascal, hold your croaking tongue !” cried the Chevalier. 

You lazy black devils are as full of superstition Come, doctor. 

Fortunately, the storm will keep the rest of the hands from hearing the 
bell and bringing every one of them swarming up from the quarters.” 

The Chevalier led the way into the dining-room, where supper was 
already on the table. The fire was bright, there was the doctor’s 
favorite roast duck, and the Chevalier brought out a bottle of ’15 port, 
which was like nectar. But yet, to the doctor’s simple heart, every- 
thing seemed changed. Even the Chevalier’s cordiality seemed a little 
forced. It was impossible that all which had happened at Hale-Weston 
should not affect the few families in the neighborhood kin to Hale- 
Weston by long association. 


78 


HALE-WESTON. 


The ’15 port was supplemented, later on, in the library, by some 
choice cigars ; but yet the poor doctor smoked sadly. All is changed,” 
he said, moodily, to the Chevalier. Here I am a middle-aged man, 
with my few friends, my friends’ houses, where I am welcome, — and 
see, Hale- Weston is broken up ; for I can never make up my mind 
to go there with Algy Weston and that little upstart jade, his wife, in 
possession.” 

Nor I,” added the Chevalier, gravely. 

And there is Mrs. Weston, the handsomest woman in the county, 
and the most dignified. I always liked strangers to go to Hale- Weston : 
then they saw what sort of style we had in this county.” 

The doctor’s generalizations did not impose on the Chevalier one 
whit. He knew exactly how he regarded Mrs. Weston, just as Dr. 
Peyton knew all about the affair between the Chevalier and Mrs. 
Weston so long ago. 

The doctor, however, was so taken up with the injurious effects of 
the late changes that he did not notice a strange look on the Chev- 
alier’s face. 

And Henry Weston,” kept on the doctor, fretfully, taking the 
cigar out of his mouth. I don’t think there was another such young 
fellow in the county ; and if he isn’t a desperate man I never saw 
one.” 

The Chevalier started : “ Have you seen him lately ?” 

Not two hours ago, — at Shabby Hall, in that leaky old sitting- 
room, with next to no fire, — though wood is plenty. By the way, he 
said he was coming here to-night; but the storm will keep him at 
home.” 

There was a slight pause. 

I have always felt,” said the Chevalier, looking at the fire and 
not at thg doctor, “ a strong affection for Henry Weston. I think it 
impossible for one who entertained a high regard for Mrs. Weston not 
to include him. In fact,” he continued, with a slight smile, I doubt 
if Mrs. Weston would feel grateful for any regard which did not in- 
clude him.” 

Dr. Peyton listened with some surprise. The Chevalier Vaughan 
and himself had grown up together, had been associated all their lives, 
had mutually respected and perfectly understood each other ever since 
the time when Angie Weston, the toast of the county, had snubbed the 
bashful young doctor for the gay and dashing Chevalier. But there 
had been no confidences between them, — indeed, but little sympathy. 
The doctor thought the Chevalier a little too much of a fine gentleman, 
and the Chevalier thought the doctor not quite enough of a fine gentle- 
man. 

The Chevalier glanced at Dr. Peyton. Something in his face in- 
spired confidence. The Chevalier went on after a pause : 

I can hardly say the disposition of the property wholly surprised 
me. I never thought Mrs. Weston as safe as she fancied she was in 
securing Hale- Weston for Henry, although of course I did not foresee 

the strange turn things took. But still Did you ever make a 

will, doctor?” 


HALE-WESTON. 


79 


The doctor smiled: ‘^Well, I hardly thought my old gig, and 
one nag in it, and another in my stable, and my saddle-bags, worth 
willing away. My little land and few negroes go to my sister, who has 
many children and is a widow.” 

“ I have no one, as you know ; and all my property, in the event 
of my death, would go to my second-cousin up in the southwest. But 
so apprehensive was I of Henry Weston’s not being left handsomely 
provided for, I thought I had contrived a way, in making my will, to 
give him something. I have an undivided interest in some mountain- 
land, — not worth much for anything but tobacco, unless the ores are got 
out of it, — and when I thought Henry Weston and Nancy Brandon 
bound to make a match I left it to her.” 

Left it to George Brandon, you mean,” growled the doctor. 

Not if you do your duty. I know George Brandon as well as 
any man in the world, and I followed our late friend Sandy Weston’s 
example, and left it to a trustee ; and you are the man.” 

The Chevalier smiled at the look of surprise in the doctor’s coun- 
tenance. The doctor shook his finger determinedly in the Chevalier’s 
face : 

You may depend upon it that George Brandon will never get 
a stiver either in my lifetime or after my death, if he should outlive us 
both.” 

The Chevalier went on : You see, my object was to ultimately 
benefit Henry Weston. When, however, I found that no match would 
take place between Anne Brandon and himself, that design was frus- 
trated. I thought about changing things, giving Anne, whom I truly 
admire, a little trinket as I have given Elizabeth, — one gets fond of 
young things one has seen grow up around one, — but, on the whole, I 
concluded to let it stand. If Brandon should die, those girls would be 
penniless ; and this little gift would be something for Anne, — some- 
thing for them both.” 

“But,” asked the doctor, “why should not Henry Weston and 
Nancy make a match ? It seems to me the most natural thing in the 
world. I predicted it before they had finished cutting their teeth.” 

“ It is quite impossible,” answered the Chevalier, gravely. 

The doctor sighed. The Chevalier spoke with conviction. Thus 
was another one of his pleasant dreams shattered. 

As the case is, when one confidence has been given another is apt to 
follow. The Chevalier, pausing to take his cigar out of his mouth, 
continued : 

“ I have conceived another way of benefiting Henry Weston, though. 
This is a matter of great delicacy. Dr. Peyton.” 

The doctor threw his cigar in the fire, and pricked up his ears. 

“ I am well aware that certain things have been said about Mrs. 
Weston and myself. The terrible position in which she now finds her- 
self is probably due to that unjust suspicion. It is a false one. If there 
were any truth in it, all that I have would be at her service. I think 
you know me well enough to be certain that I would do all, and more, 
that honor required of me. But I feel it would be madness at this time 
to offer anything in any way to Mrs. Weston, or to her son.” 


80 


HALE-WESTON. 


Decidedly so,” replied Dr. Peyton. 

But,” said the Chevalier, again smiling, I may say, — indeed, I 
may as well make a clean breast of it, — when a suitable time has 
elapsed I shall offer my hand and absolutely everything I possess to 
Mrs. Weston. She may ill treat me, — as I think she did twenty -five 
years ago ; for she has changed little since those days, — she was only 
eighteen then, — but at least she shall have the chance to make me 
amends for her conduct.” 

The doctor in his heart doubted whether the Chevalier were not 
lying, chivalrously and generously, but yet lying, about Angela Wes- 
ton’s treatment of him. He could hardly bring himself to believe 
that any woman having the choice between Sandy Weston and the 
Chevalier Vaughan — least of all the pretty, high-spirited Angie — 
would or could have chosen the ex-overseer. He looked at the Cheva- 
lier, his well-knit figure, his handsome iron-gray head, his title as a 
gentleman written all over him, and could not but think that if Angela 
had been a little hasty perhaps the Chevalier had been a little slow. 
Nevertheless he held out his hand and grasped the Chevalier’s. In 
that moment the two understood each other. 

Jealousy had no place in Dr. Peyton’s composition. The one 
romance of his life had centred upon Angela Weston. Yet he saw 
with the eyes of common sense the radical differences, the vast incon- 
gruity, between them. Angela Weston a country doctor’s wife! Not 
for worlds would he have doomed her to that. But, being compelled 
to resign her himself, — a resignation which had been completed for so 
many years, — he felt no mean regret that another man,, more worthy 
of her, should win the prize. He felt, indeed, a great sense of relief. 
Ah, how simple it was ! In a little while — a year or two — she would 
regain all she had lost. It would be hers to give to that adored son • 
the Chevalier had said so. 

The Chevalier spoke again : 

Could slander and calumny withstand that? Could any man do 
more to signify his faith in her? And one thing I am determined on : 
the whole county shall know when I make my offer. I’ll engage you 
to tell Mrs. Thorpe in confidence. That will secure its being spread 
broadcast over the land.” 

The doctor chuckled in his good humor. There was certainly a 
rift in the cloud, beyond which the heavenly blue could be seen. 

As the evening wore on, the storm increased. The two talked of 
Henry Weston, and the doctor’s cheerfulness increased, but about eleven 
o’clock he found himself yawning involuntarily once or twice, and his 
host, seeing it, called for Peter and candles and escorted him up to his 
chamber. 

But when the doctor sat down before the bright wood fire blazing 
away merrily, the sleep departed from his eyes. The wind howled 
frightfully and rattled the chimney-pots. The branches of the trees 
were swept against the window-panes, and the rain pattered upon them 
in fierce gusts. Dr. Peyton concluded he would not go to bed imme- 
diately. 

Down-stairs, the Chevalier Vaughan also found sitting up more to 


HALE-WESTON. 


81 


his fancy than going to bed. His mind was on Henry Weston, and 
suddenly in the midst of his revery he heard — or thought he heard — 
a step upon the gallery that ran around the house, and saw Henry 
Weston, with a changed and desperate face, peering in at the window. 
He sat still, overcome with a kind of horror. He had had strange 
feelings, almost forebodings, since the doctor had left him. If it was 
Henry Weston, he was the bearer of ill news from Hale-Weston. 
Mrs. Weston might be ill, and she might have sent for him. The 
thought troubled him. He rose and walked up and down, and sat 
down again in the great chair facing the fire. In ten minutes he saw 
the window opening on the gallery raised, and Henry Weston, envel- 
oped in a huge riding- cloak, from which the water streamed over the 
carpet, stepped in and shut the window carefully after him. 

The Chevalier was hardly surprised. Why, my dear fellow — he 
began, in his cordial way ; but Weston, pushing rudely by his proffered 
hand, put down upon the table an old-fashioned mahogany pistol-case. 
Then he advanced to the fire. 

The Chevalier, looking at his blazing eyes set in his haggard face,, 
began to fear for him. But Henry Weston, quietly drawing up a chair, 
threw back his wet cloak, and spread his chilled hands over the blaze. 

The Chevalier poured out a glass of wine from the decanter that 
stood on the table. 

This is some of my father’s old port, that Dr. Peyton and myself 
have been punishing to-night,” he said, with an assumed cheerfulness. 

It is famous to keep out cold.” 

Henry Weston took the glass of wine and examined it critically, 
but did not drink it. 

The night is wild,” he said. When I crossed Fox Mill Creek I 
had to take to the foot-bridge and swim my horse.” 

^^Ah?” replied the Chevalier, in the tone of asking a question. 

The foot-bridge is dangerous walking on a dark night.” 

Henry Weston had risen by this time and walked over to the table 
where he had put his mahogany case, and was unfastening it with 
clumsy fingers. Is it possible,” said the Chevalier, that your horse 
is standing all this time?” — for hospitality in those days meant kind- 
ness to both man and beast. 

Henry Weston, though, apparently had not heard. He lifted one 
of the pair of duelling-pistols in the case, and was turning it over. 
The Chevalier had a curious sensation ; yet he did not refer Henry 
Weston’s actions in any way to himself. He thought the young man 
had become involved in trouble with somebody else and had come to 
consult him. The Chevalier Vaughan was authority on duelling, which 
had not then gone out of fashion. 

If so, Henry Weston made no sign. He examined carefully the 
pistol he held, and then spoke to the Chevalier without looking at him. 

Chevalier,” he said, ^^I have a duty to perform. I’m not a 
shirker : at least I was not,” he corrected himself. 

The Chevalier was silent. He could not understand the direction 
in which Henry Weston’s mind was travelling. 

Don’t you remember, one day, a long time ago, — it was in the 

VoL. XLIII.— 6 


82 


HALE-WESTON. 


late spring, because the magnolia-trees were in bloom, — you were in the 
greenhouse at Hale-Weston, and you kissed my — my mother’s hand ?” 

A deep red dyed the Chevalier’s face. Yes, he remembered it only 
too well ; but he did not feel like acknowledging it before this young 
fellow. 

I don’t know,” he answered, assuming his old airiness of manner. 

Your mother has permitted me occasionally to kiss her honored hand: 
such respectful freedoms as old friendship ” 

Henry Weston, meanwhile, with his pistol cocked, was advancing 
on the Chevalier. All at once his murderous design was made clear to 
the man facing him in the chair. The Chevalier threw wide his arms. 
He saw, if Henry Weston meant to kill him, it was too late for any- 
thing like escape. 

You would not murder an unarmed man !” he cried. 

At that very instant Henry Weston was almost upon him, with the 
pistol grasped in his trembling hand. Whether he took deliberate aim 
or not, a shot rang out, and a bullet whizzed past the Chevalier’s head. 

The Chevalier sprang up, and rushed at him. Dr. Peyton, sitting 
up-stairs by his bedroom fire, heard the raising of the window and the 
murmur of voices, then the sound — muffled, but unmistakable — of the 
pistol-shot. He jumped from his chair and ran down-stairs. 

As he opened the library door he saw the Chevalier Vaughan seize 
Henry Weston, who was saying, sullenly, — 

I tell you it went off by accident. I will draw the load.” 

He had picked the pistol up from the floor. 

Give it me,” demanded the Chevalier, still holding him. 

“Upon that order, Chevalier?” asked Henry Weston, in the same 
tone, — a tone with a menace in it. 

The Chevalier, who was a powerful man, caught Henry Weston’s 
arm. Then, as in a dream, the doctor saw a fierce scuffle, heard the 
noise of the heavy pistol dropping on the floor, and two sharp reports 
following. The Chevalier threw Henry Weston off with an effort, 
walked quite steadily to the arm-chair from which he had risen, and, 
seating himself, laid his head back, and all at once a torrent of blood 
gushed from his neck, and he closed his eyes. 

In Dr. Peyton’s quiet life he had seldom been brought face to face 
with terrible emergencies. He quite lost the power of motion. Even 
the doctor’s instinct to stanch the blood utterly failed him. He saw 
Henry Weston calmly wipe the still smoking pistol with his white 
handkerchief. He heard him say, “ Had he asked for it properly, I 
would have given it. But to struggle for a loaded pistol, — some acci- 
dent was bound to occur. At all events, he has saved me the trouble 
of killing him.” 

At that moment there was a loud commotion at the hall door, — 
the grinding of wheels upon the gravel, the sound of horses’ hoofs, of 
shrill voices. Dr. Peyton, as in a dream, turned into the hall, and, 
reaching up, seized the rope of the alarm-bell ; but his uncertain grasp 
only caused the bell to vibrate in two or three long and solemn peals. 
The clamor for admission from the outside grew louder. He recog- 
nized Mrs. Weston’s clear, high tones. “ For God’s sake !” she cried. 


HALE- WESTON. 


83 


Dr. Peyton, wkh trembling fingers, tugged at the wooden bar that 
fastened the outer door, but he could not unfasten it. From other doors, 
though, poured a swarm of negroes, the house-servants, who had been 
startled % the ominous pealing of the bell. Their faces wore the ashy 
color a negro turns when overcome with superstitious terror. Peter 
was the first to go to the doctor’s assistance. 

“Y-y-y-ou git away, Marse Doctor,” said he, stuttering with 
fright. “I kin ondo it. Whar’s marse?” 

The simple inquiry, the sound of a human voice, brought the doctor 
to his senses. Without a word he rushed back into the library, and up 
to the chair in which the Chevalier lay, and which was deluged with 
blood. One look told the whole story to his practised eye. No need to 
feel that pulseless wrist, to tear open the coat to hear that silent heart ; 
yet the doctor did it all. The Chevalier had probably died the instant 
he fell upon the chair. A bullet, coming upward, had passed through 
the large veins of the neck and had gone straight to the brain. 

The noise of the opening door and the approach of many feet caused 
Dr. Peyton to raise his head. His eyes fell upon Henry Weston stand- 
ing quite motionless. He had laid the pistol down. The doctor went 
up and caught hold of him. Weston stared at him and then shook 
him angrily off. 

“ Why do you trouble me ?” he said. Have I not told you for a 
month past of this terrible pain here ?” — he struck his forehead, — “ and 
just now, when you took that pistol away, you caused me to drop it. 
If you are hurt, you can blame yourself.” 

I am not the Chevalier Vaughan. I am Dr. Peyton. Don’t you 
know me ?” said the doctor, trembling. 

‘^Ah!” replied Henry Weston, looking embarrassed. Forgive 
me. I have been somewhat confused of late. Things are unreal.” 

He was clearly out of his mind. His eye, bright yet wandering, 
and his disconnected speech, told it all to Dr. Peyton. 

And then there was a loud and desperate cry. The servants had 
held back for Mrs. Weston to enter, and when they caught sight of the 
ghastly form in the arm-chair, shrieks burst from them. Mrs. Weston, 
cloaked and hooded, ran up to the Chevalier Vaughan. She seized his 
head in her hands, and the horrible stream soaked her hands and her 
garments. Doctor ! doctor !” she screamed, come here at once ! You 
are doing nothing to stop this blood.” 

It is not worth while,” said the doctor, and, besides, Henry 
Weston needs me now. There is not a moment to lose. He is in the 
most violent stage of brain-fever. Look here.” 

For Henry Weston had rolled up his sleeve and showed his once 
brawny arm, now a mere framework of bone and muscle. His facial 
thinness was as nothing compared to this. The expression on his face 
was appalling. 

Dr. Peyton,” said he, something has eaten all the flesh off my 
bones. Feel how hot my hands are.” 

Then he looked up and saw his mother. 

That black rascal Jake,” he said, no doubt went tearing over to 
Hale- Weston and gave a general alarm because I happened to come 


84 


HALE-WESTON. 


out at rather a late hour to spend the evening with the Chevalier 
Vaughan. By the way, doctor, where is the Chevalier, anyway 

The negroes, meanwhile, with wild lamentations, had gathered 
around their master, — a master kindly and well beloved. Angela 
Weston stood motionless, still holding the poor head in her arms. The 
unspeakable thoughts that possessed her made her altogether forgetful 
of what went on around her. Time, with her, was no more. She had 
gone back to the days when neither earth nor heaven held anything for 
her but the dead man. 

Dr. Peyton came np to her hurriedly : I must at once take some 
blood from Henry. I must get him up-stairs. Then I will return to 
you. Angela ! Angela T 

Mrs. Weston neither saw nor heard him. He had never called 
her by name before. But, like herself, twenty-five years had become 
to him as one day. He only saw the Angela Weston of his youth in 
this poor, agonized creature. 

He took Henry Weston by the arm, who was now quite passive, 
and led him from the room. As he passed the Chevalier’s body, he 
glanced at it indifferently. The weeping negroes shrank away from 
him. His mother for once forgot to look at or speak to him. As the 
doctor was leading him up the broad stairs, a noisy fall was heard. 
Henry Weston had dropped senseless, his tall form hideously bent and 
doubled up. 

Help, here !” cried the doctor. Peter ! Peter !” 

Peter came out, sobbing, and stood at the foot of the stairs without 
advancing. 

Don’t you see ?” cried the doctor, impatiently. I can’t carry 
him up by myself.” 

I doan’ want ter tech him,” said Peter, doggedly. Ef it hadn’t 
been fur him my marster wouldn’t ’a’ bin kilt.” 

A little thin stream of blood began to trickle from under Henry 
Weston’s thick brown hair, upon his temple. 

He is hurt himself, ” said the doctor. That’s where the second 
bullet went. They both struggled for the pistol. Come here.” 

The wound, albeit it was but a scratch, seemed to remove Peter’s 
scruples. Between the two, they got him up-stairs. The look on 
Henry Weston’s livid face, and the fierce fever that consumed him, 
softened Peter’s heart. 

I spec’ he gwi’ die ’fore we git him up-st’yars,” he said. Marse 
wuz alius mighty fond o’ him, an’ he sut’ny wuz a gentmun, Marse 
Henry wuz.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A TRAGEDY in a quiet country neighborhood is every whit a tragedy. 
People were prepared for something dreadful to happen at Hale-Weston 
after the startling events there, but what really did occur seemed to un- 
hinge the whole neighborhood. On the day of the Chevalier’s funeral. 
Dr. Peyton was unable to leave Henry Weston for a single moment, 
and in the pauses of the burial-service could be heard, in spite of 


HALE- WESTON. 


86 


closed doors and windows, the delirious shrieks of the unhappy young 
man as he battled for his life. Mr. Steptoe, his coarse and jovial face 
quite blanched and awe-stricken, performed the services. As these 
ominous sounds came from the sick-room, the people shuddered. Once, 
when they were louder than usual, Anne Brandon, who sat, closely 
veiled, near the coffin, rose up suddenly as if to go to him, then sat 
down again. Mr. Steptoe, in a husky voice, explained that although 
it was not customary to speak of the dead over whom ceremonies were 
being performed, or of the circumstances of their death, he would yet 
say that the sympathies of all should be with the unfortunate young 
man overhead, who himself missed by a hair’s breadth death from the 
same accident that killed his friend. Dr, Peyton had told him that 
Henry Weston would in all probability never remember the circum- 
stances, and it would be the greatest of mercies. Dr. Peyton had also 
said that the very last utterances of their dead friend were in praise 
and esteem of Henry Weston. People who had thought the Rev. Mr. 
Steptoe nothing but a cock-fighting parson changed their opinion on 
that day. His emotion was too plain. In truth, he had greatly ad- 
mired the Chevalier Vaughan, who had never by covert sneers re- 
minded him of his humble origin, and who in some way served as a 
model to the coarser-fibred clergyman. 

The funeral procession took its slow way to Petsworth' Church, 
where the Vaughans were buried, and as the clergyman threw the first 
clods on the coffin a wail arose from Peter and the other negroes who 
had been born and raised under the Chevalier’s kindly rule. 

He wuz de bes’ o’ marsters,” wept Peter. 

Mrs. Weston had been carried back to Hale-Weston on the night 
of the Chevalier’s death, and had lain in something that looked like a 
stupor ever since, asking for no one, not even Henry Weston, neither 
speaking nor opening her eyes voluntarily. Dr. Peyton’s heart ached 
to be with her, but his duty kept him at Henry Weston’s side. Mrs. 
Weston’s malady might torture, but it could not kill ; while the doctor 
felt very little hope that Henry Weston would ever rise from that bed 
on which he groaned and tossed. 

Anne Brandon went over to Hale-Weston at once, and stayed for 
some days. Maria and Algy felt glad to have her ; for, although Mrs. 
Thorpe and the Wickhams — indeed, all who had been linked by long 
association with the Hale-Weston family — offered their services and 
came to them with the sympathy of people who have long lived the 
same lives together, Anne was the only one towards whom Mrs. Wes- 
ton had ever indicated any especial fondness. She did not even do that 
now. Anne, sitting remote in the darkened room, heard no sign from 
Mrs. Weston lying on the bed with eyes closed, or else wide open, fixed, 
and unseeing. For herself, she sometimes wished that she could change 
places with Henry Weston’s mother, lying half unconscious, almost 
dulled to the knowledge of his danger and sore distress. Her heart 
beat so fiercely that it seemed as if it would rend itself. If he lived or 
if he died, there was only unspeakable wretchedness. The long hours 
of the night, when she sat and gazed at the embers and occasionally fell 
off in a troubled sleep in her chair, when dreadful spectres haunted her 


86 


HALE- WESTON. 


sick imagination, were full of a misery so sharp that she said to herself, 
I did not think that any one could live, and suffer as I do.’^ 

For four weeks Dr. Peyton scarcely left Henry Weston ; and then 
one day he rode over to Hale- Weston. He had been there before, but 
only to see Mrs. Weston for a few moments and to try and rouse her 
from her curious state. This time, though, his face wore something 
like a cheerful look. 

He was shown up into Mrs. Weston’s sitting-room. She lay on the 
sofa then, but still silent, still absorbed as in a painful dream. Maria 
sat on one side of her. 

Mrs. Weston,” cried the excellent doctor, taking her nerveless 
hand in his, I have the medicine for you at last. Henry is better, — 
perfectly conscious. He asked after you this morning.” 

A great change came over Mrs. Weston. She sat up, still looking 
inexpressibly ill, but a little like herself. She seized the doctor with a 
sort of fierceness : 

Are you telling me the truth ? Ah, yes ! I see it in your face.” 

“ And,” continued the doctor, he asked — he asked after the Chev- 
alier. Then he wanted to know how he got to Berry Hill. He re- 
members nothing after he received a letter one afternoon at Shabby 
Hall.” 

Mrs. Weston threw up her hands wildly : Then he does not re- 
member — he ” 

“ Does not remember anything,” answered Dr. Peyton. 

The blessing ! the mercy !” Mrs. Weston suddenly began to 
weep violently. Dr. Peyton had never seen her shed a tear before. 


CHAPTER XV. 

The spring was coming apace. Hale-Weston never looked lovelier. 
It put on all its beauty to mock the unhappy woman who watched it 
day by day, and Henry Weston, who, still gaunt and thin, crept back 
to health at Shabby Hall. 

An atmosphere of sorrow and disappointment seemed to brood far 
and wide in that quiet corner of the world. Even Algy and Maria, as 
owners of Hale-Weston, could not escape its malign influence. First, 
Algy, although great at figures and a model book-keeper, was no 
farmer, and was ill calculated to cope with the army of negroes and the 
two overseers that his father had managed with success born of his 
own experience as an overseer, — or “ manager,” as he had preferred to 
call it. With ill-judged economy, Algy tried to get on with one over- 
seer instead of two, in the Hale-Weston place and the Highlands' estate 
too. The head man having taken offence and left, the second in com- 
mand was promoted, and the negroes literally walked over him, be- 
coming, under his indifferent rule, both lazy and insubordinate. Then 
Maria knew nothing of the vast executive responsibilities of the mistress 
of such a plantation, and everything in her domain went persistently 
wrong. She did not even have the satisfaction of ordering the coach- 


HALE- WESTON, 


87 


and-four and taking an airing all by herself. The first time she did it 
Mrs. Weston turned upon her with so much of her old fire that Maria 
was perfectly terrified, and hastily countermanded the order, which order 
she never dared to repeat. Then Mrs. Weston made all at once a demand 
upon Algy for the yearly sum which had been agreed upon as her allow- 
ance, and, by the strange power of a strong mind over a weak one, she 
forced Algy to produce it promptly. The management so far showed a 
loss for Hale-Weston, instead of the yearly profit that had been wont, 
ever since old Colonel Weston gave up the place, to pile up in bank in 
spite of the most liberal expenditure. There was a great and growing 
property outside of Hale-Weston, but this last had been the El Dorado, 
and when Algy found the figures on the debit instead of the credit side, 
after his first yearns ownership, he fell into a cold terror. If this was 
the way things were going, it was only a question of time when Hale- 
Weston would swallow up all the other property, as Aaron^s rod did 
all the other rods. Mrs. Weston’s determination in drawing her allow- 
ance was very plain. She did not spend it. Toinette had been sent 
away to school, but, to Algy’s horror, he found her bills were sent to 
him with great promptness and regularity. At this he feebly protested; 
but Mrs. Weston pointed out to him that the iron-clad agreement he 
made with her contained no mention of Toinette. Her annuity was 
for her own personal wants and expenses; and if, after receiving all the 
great property, to the exclusion of his brother and sister, he declined 
to pay for the latter’s education, she — well, the substance of it was, the 
county would be made too hot to hold him. Algy succumbed. Mrs. 
Weston still used the horses and carriages and servants and everything 
else that had once been hers but were now Algy’s. She ordered things 
for the house whenever she felt like it, while Algy, inwardly fuming, 
dared not protest; and all of this considerable sum in ready money which 
she received was a fund for Henry Weston. Of this Henry Weston 
knew nothing, except that Algy paid Toinette’s bills, — which seemed to 
him natural and proper. 

The principle of no surrender” was so much a part of Mrs. Weston’s 
nature that instinctively, after a time, she regained her self-poise. But 
it was merely outward. When she moved quietly about back and forth, 
a little haughtier than usual to Algy and Maria, her severe black gown 
setting off her noble beauty, which now possessed some deeper and more 
touching significance than ever before, storms raged within her. The 
magnitude of all she had lost — power, prestige, wealth, her life-long 
ambition for Henry Weston, the Chevalier Vaughan’s unchanging 
devotion, even Sandy Weston’s obedient affection — overcame her. As 
she sat at the head of the table, she could look over Algy’s sandy head, 
through a window beyond, and far in the distance she could see the 
one solitary chimney of Shabby Hall, for which Henry Weston had ex- 
changed this fair domain. On Sundays, when she went to church and 
sat gracefully upright in her corner of the Hale-Weston pew, with her 
black veil falling about her face, Mr. Steptoe could hardly keep his eyes 
off her. She mesmerized him with her fixed gaze, and he imagined that 
his vehement if somewhat illogical sermons were making a deep impres- 
sion on her. The fact was, Mr. Steptoe had become an out-and-out 


88 


HALE- WESTON. 


champion of Mrs. Weston and her eldest son, and had taken to preach- 
ing at Algy and Maria in a way that was both exasperating and embar- 
rassing. He would shake his burly fist at them as they sat in church 
quite harmless and well-behaved, and promise hell-fire and everlasting 
torments to undutiful children and possessors of ill-gotten gains. He 
seemed to hold them directly responsible for the act of Sandy Weston, 
committed when they were both but little better than infants. 

‘‘ Plague on it,’^ said Algy to Maria, almost crying, it^s a shame ! 
iPs a durned shame ! I don’t believe I’ll go to hear the old ruffian 
preach any more but every Sunday morning, when his mother com- 
manded him to get ready for church, Algy got ready for church, and 
went, too. As for Mrs. Weston, she kept her eyes on Mr. Steptoe be- 
cause if she turned them elsewhere she could not but see, through the 
vine-covered window, the Chevalier Vaughan’s grassy grave. It was 
at the foot of a golden willow, in which the blackbirds built their nests 
and twittered and swung in the summer air. The church was a good 
three miles from Hale- Weston, yet she often left her carriage at the 
road -side, and would enter the graveyard and stand and look down 
upon the grave of the man who had met his death at the hands of her 
best-beloved. In the long hours when she turned over in her restless 
mind all that led up to the tragedy, she arrived somewhere near the 
truth. Henry Weston had brooded over the imaginary wrong which 
had changed the face of existence for him until the plan of vengeance 
had possessed his fevered and unbalanced mind, and he had gone 
armed to Berry Hill. She knew nothing of the letter which had first 
roused the devil in Henry Weston’s heart. She fancied it was all due 
to that unsettled account between him and the Chevalier Vaughan. As 
she traced it back to those early days, it seemed to her as if the hand 
of fate was upon her. She began to fear that stern and inscrutable 
justice in which she had but only half believed. Once Mr. Steptoe, 
coming out of the church on a week-day, saw her standing and looking 
down at the^rave. He was about to make off, pretending he had not 
seen her, but she raised her soft black eyes and commanded him to 
come to her. He advanced sheepishly enough, his hands behind his 
broad back. A look on her face made him attempt some bungling 
consolation, a trite condolence, beginning and ending nowhere, all about 
the love of God. Mrs. Weston cut him short. 

‘‘Ido not love God,” she said, “ but I fear Him unutterably. Who 
has more cause ?” 

Mr. Steptoe went upon his way. Ah, Hale- Weston had been a 
pleasant place to visit, — those jolly card-parties, with apple toddy galore, 
and Mrs. Weston so full of life, so pretty in her silk gowns, so ready 
for a bout with Mr. Brandon ; but all was changed, — Algy and Maria 
trying to do the honors, and Mrs. Weston silent, calm, and robed in 
black. Mr. Steptoe groaned a loud groan. 

From Berry Hill, Henry Weston had been carried straight to 
Shabby Hall. As Dr. Peyton had predicted, all the events of that 
fatal night were wiped from his memory. He remembered going to 
Berry Hill, — that was all. Dr. Peyton told him merely that in han- 
‘Hing a pistol the Chevalier had received accidentally the bullet that 


HALE-WESTON. 


89 


killed him. He said nothing of the scratch which Henry Weston him- 
self had received, which was long since healed, nor of the struggle for 
the pistol. Henry Weston had replied, after a long pause, — 

“ At one time I had a grudge against the Chevalier. But it passed 
away in Paris. Dr. Peyton, you can’t think how it comforts me to 
think that it was all over before that night. We seemed to have a 
good understanding after I came home, and especially about the time 
of my father’s death.” 

The poor doctor stifled a sigh. 

As Henry Weston’s body got stronger his mind took up the old 
thread w^here his illness had broken it off. According to his lights and 
teachings, the world was not wide enough for him and the man that had 
carried off the wife whom he had despised from the first time he found 
her out. He must kill the dog of a Frenchman. It was a dreadful 
necessity. It lay heavy upon his soul. At night, and in day, it pur- 
sued him. It sat next him, and drew closer when he would sometimes 
have driven it away. It turned the blessed sunshine into the blackness 
of night. It made him hate the strong young life that was coming 
slowly back to him. He reflected sometimes that every moment brought 
the inevitable hour closer to him, and he trembled, although he knew 
not fear. For the vengeance that had been forced upon him needed a 
co;ijunction of circumstances that it might be carried out. First, he 
must be strong, that he might travel so far, and not drop on the road. 
Then he must have money, and a good deal of it, before undertaking 
the search. Things at Shabby Hall had prospered as extraordinarily as 
they had gone the other w^ay at Hale-Weston. Jake and Hector, with- 
out directions from any one, at the time of Henry Weston’s illness had 
ploughed the ground deep, and had carted innumerable loads of dead- 
leaf mould upon the sandy soil. The light loam, unfit for wheat or 
corn, they planted of their own accord in cotton and tobacco, and the 
growth was something marvellous. Impelled by the slovenly farming 
that for once in many years prevailed at Hale-Weston, they worked 
night and day, until the grass was rooted out of the fence-corners at 
Shabby Hall, and the whole of the little place was as clean of weeds as 
a flower-garden. Keziah laid the remarkable success they had with 
their cotton- and tobacco-plants to the direct interposition of the Most 
High. ^^Look at dem Hale-Weston craps,” she w'ould say. “Gord 
A’mighty He done tooken de place away fum Marse Henry, but hit 
looks like He warn’ gwi’ let Marse Algy disenjoy hit.” This view, 
too, was taken by the discontented Hale-Weston negroes, and wonderful 
tales were told of the revolt of the land against Algy’s rule ; and when 
a good part of the chestnut fencing up in the highlands caught fire from 
lightning and burned up, it was taken as a grewsome warning that the 
financial arrangements of the late Sandy Weston were not approved by 
the great court of appeal. 

Mrs. Weston supplied all deficiencies in Henry Weston’s modest 
housekeeping, and Keziah felt no delicacy in calling upon Hale-Weston 
for anything she wanted. Henry Weston knew nothing of this or any 
other detail of his bachelor establishment. He only knew that in the 
autumn, if the tobacco and cotton turned out as they promised, he 


90 


HALE-WESTON. 


would have enough money, with that part of his allowance as yet un- 
expended, to start upon that terrible journey. 

Again, the thirst for vengeance would seize upon him. He would 
rise in the night and walk the floor of his narrow bedroom, chafing and 
raging that he could not in that hour kill the man who had dishonored 
him. He would promise himself that the wretched creatures should 
suffer at his hands all and more than he had endured. Not one spark 
of tenderness remained for Jeanne; indeed, there had not been, since 
those first days at Fontainebleau. But it is in the power of the basest 
wife to disgrace her husband. At those times he could not bear to 
think on Anne Brandon. She, too, would be included in that universal 
hatred. Had she but given him a look, a word, before he left for 
Paris, all this might have been spared him. 

It is not to be supposed that he had not, long since, investigated the 
status of his marriage. It was one of the first things he did when he 
got back to Virginia, — did it with a kind of hope that filled him with 
shame and remorse when he thought on it. He found, indeed, the 
statute of marriage in Virginia peculiarly rigid, and designed to pre- 
vent the very looseness and unsafeness of the old common-law mar- 
riage. He had made a secret trip to one of the greatest lawyers in the 
State, to put before him a supposititious case, under the seal of secrecy. 
Henry Weston found that if that ceremony in Paris had been any sort 
of a civil instead of a religious ceremony it would have been no mar- 
riage at all ; but, although the Virginia courts had invariably been 
ruthless in deciding against the legality of any marriage that did not 
fulfil the requirements of the statute, an exception was made in favor 
of those where any sort of a religious rite was used. The old spirit 
of the Established Church still held sway. A regularly ordained 
minister of any denomination made good in effect all the other deficien- 
cies that might exist. And the Bev. Charles Wey bridge was an Epis- 
copal clergyman. That alone saved the marriage. Otherwise, that 
statute that seemed made to protect just such men as Henry Weston 
would have stepped in, and the whole force of established precedent 
would have been arrayed against the idea of a marriage at common 
law, which was sternly denied recognition by the courts in Virginia as 
well as the unshaken and unanimous public opinion. 

As for Anne, hers was perhaps the hardest portion. Both Henry 
Weston and his mother were at least shielded by the dignity of misfor- 
tune ; but she, whose lot it had always been only to suffer silently, had 
no such buckler of defence in despair as keen as theirs. She must keep 
a brave outside to the world. Mr. Brandon, who loved her better than 
he thought, showed his sympathy by cynical remarks on mankind in 
general. He never had believed in what people called feelings, and 
covertly but incessantly he pointed out to Anne, with an unhealed 
wound in her heart, the folly of all feelings and affections. Miss Pryor 
offered her a timid sympathy, and Elizabeth’s shallow nature took 
Anne’s brave composure as a sign that all was well with her. 

It was not long before Mrs. Weston fell back in the old way of de- 
pending upon Anne for companionship. It was not like the old way, 
either, for Anne once broke forth hotly, — 


HALE- WESTON. 


91 


Do you think yours is the heaviest burden to bear ? Look at me ! 
You at least have had something like happiness ; but what have I had ? 
I tell you there are times since — since— he came back that my pain 
has been greater than I well could bear/’ 

Mrs. Weston believed her. Surely it was pain enough for any 
woman to love Henry Weston, unhappy as that love must fe. 

Naturally, they soon met after Henry Weston’s return to Shabby 
Hal]. That, too, lay near to Sparrow Point ; and almost the first day 
he ventured out of doors he followed the familiar path he and Anne 
had often trod as boy and girl together. He walked as far as the trees 
which marked the lines between the places, and then stopped, feeling 
tired and weak, as convalescents do. And in a moment or two Anne 
stepped lightly through the woods and laid her hand on his arm. 

As at their first meeting upon Henry Weston’s return, they each 
forgot all except the other. A dusky red crept into his pale face, 
while Anne turned quite white. Some commonplace words passed be- 
tween them, as the case generally is when strange and powerful emo- 
tions choke the fountains of speech. There was no need of many 
words. They understood each other very well ; and, after a little 
while, Anne, seeing how he was shaken and tremulous, left him, and 
turned back towards Sparrow Point. 

After that, they often met in their walks. Henry Weston, as has 
been told before, loved an out-door life. He had been used in his boy- 
hood to spend hours lying on his back under the pine-trees, gazing up 
at the sky through their feathery branches. In all his boyish sorrows 
he had fled to the woods for solace. The habit remained with him. 
Nothing could ease his heart of the load it bore ; but his griefs and re- 
venges seemed farther ofP, more impersonal, when he was out of doors. 
Anne, too, had always spent many hours in loitering about the fields 
and woods. Now, when all day long she had to maintain composure, 
to follow household tasks, to make both ends meet, which did not be- 
come easier as time went on, her afternoon walk was her one breath of 
freedom. Henry Weston, who knew much more of the world than she 
did, sometimes felt a keen reproach at the practice he adopted of way- 
laying her three and four times a week and having one of those brief 
meetings so full of joy and pain ; but he did not on that account omit 
them, for he was, after all, very human, as he has no doubt long since 
revealed himself, and silenced any doubts which arose as to the justness 
of his conduct by a variety of subterfuges. Besides superior knowledge 
of the world, he had superior knowledge of Anne Brandon over herself, 
and his confidence in her integrity and strength was boundless. He 
reasoned to himself that all that was necessary was to avoid the tongues 
of gossip. He did not confide much in himself, but he laughed at the 
idea that there was any danger for Anne, — a mode of reasoning specious, 
but not sound. As for Anne, she thought but little about it. It 
seemed the simplest thing in the world that she and her former play- 
fellow should meet often. It is hard to convey an adequate idea of 
wrong-doing to an innocent mind. She had loved Henry Weston long 
before he went away. He returned, and, according to the moralists, 
she was guilty if her heart still beat upon his approach. But that she 


92 


HALE-WESTON. 


regarded as a misfortune, not a fault. She did not know anything 
about such cases. He was ill, and had been defrauded of his birth- 
right, and had fallen into a miserable marriage, and yet every incident 
of this, and the way he bore it, had been a strong conviction to her of 
his manliness. Perhaps he ought to have brought the woman to Hale- 
Weston ; perhaps he ought not to let the world remain for an instant 
in ignorance of his real position ; but in all that was positively wrong 
about him she used the tender sophistry of the woman who loves. She 
knew that he must not make love to her in words, but yet she eagerly 
pardoned that one outburst under the magnolia-trees that afternoon of 
last year, and took the blame to herself. She adopted some of Mrs. 
Weston’s fatalism to fit the case. Had he married fortunately, had he 
remained master of Hale-Weston, she could have been just with him ; 
but — he was so unfortunate, so unhappy ; who ever heard of pity 
strangling love? So this sensible girl reasoned, innocently, wrongly, 
foolishly ; but yet, from the unassailable power of an immaculate mind, 
neither rash conduct nor false excuses availed to hurt her. 

Fortunately, nobody noticed them, because nobody watched them, 
and to have overheard their conversation would not have enlightened 
anybody. Once or twice Henry Weston broke forth, but Anne, with a 
touch of command that had not forsaken her, speedily silenced him, 
and, turning, left him alone. One afternoon, it is true, just at sunset. 
Dr. Peyton saw them as he drove down a little-frequented carriage-road 
between Shabby Hall and Sparrow Point. Anne sat on the stump of 
a tree, looking westward. Henry Weston stood behind her, shading 
his eyes with his hand. They looked forlorn and melancholy : dejec- 
tion spoke in their attitudes. Dr. Peyton sighed, as he often did in 
those days, and then pounded his patient horse. The doctor was keen 
enough to see that something was the matter between these two, and it 
was another grief to him. 

When he got to Sparrow Point, though, Anne was there before 
.him. She gave him her hand up the steps, — the doctor was getting 
rheumatic, — and placed a chair for him on the porch. 

“ Papa and Elizabeth are out driving, Miss Pryor is ailing ; so 
there is nobody but me to entertain you,” she said. 

It’s very fortunate, on this particular occasion,” said the doctor. 

Anne, I’ve news for you.” 

What is it ?” said Anne, standing straight and slim before him, 
against the pillar of the porch, where the honeysuckle grew profusely. 

Anne, how would you like to be rich ?” he asked. 

“ Tremendously,” replied Anne, pulling the honeysuckle-leaves to 
pieces. 

Do you remember that half of the undivided interest in the upper- 
country property our dear Chevalier left you ?” 

Yes; and I never could think why he gave me that. I could 
understand his leaving Elizabeth money to buy a bracelet. But land. 
Dr. Peyton, — see how many acres we have here in Sparrow Point ; and 
papa says it is impossible now to raise more than one-third its value by 
mortgage, — and papa, you know, has had experience in that line.” 

But this of yours is mineral land. First, the Chevalier’s share is 


HALE-WESTON. 


93 


more — much more — than he supposed, — so his heirs say. Then, Anne, 
it is extremely valuable. To-day the Vaughans in the upper country 
notified me of an offer they have had for it, and the purchaser will not 
buy their share unless he can buy yours too. I don’t know the exact 
amount, because the land has to be re-surveyed, but it will be more 
than Sparrow Point is worth. It will make you something of an heir- 
ess. What do you think, my little Anne, of that?” 

Anne remained silent. A sharp pang of disappointment came along 
with the first natural feeling of pleasure and elation. Were Henry 
Weston but free, this money would help to put him back where he once 
was. 

The doctor was annoyed at her silence. He had meant to create a 
delightful and startling sensation, and it looked as if he were going to 
be defrauded of it. But in a moment Anne rallied : 

How charming ! Oh, doctor, was it not kind and generous of the 
Chevalier? What did I ever do for him, that he should have remem- 
bered me like this?” 

The doctor maintained a prudent reserve. He knew well enough 
the reason, and he had doubts whether the Chevalier knew so little about 
the quantity and value of the land as his heirs and relations supposed. 

Think what a comfort it will be to pay off what is owed on this 
place ! Every moment of peace on that score which I shall feel I shall 
gratefully recollect the Chevalier.” 

“ Now, look here, Anne,” said Dr. Peyton, positively : you might 
as well understand things at once. Your father, who is a most — er — 
agreeable man, and — er — a delightful companion,” which was not ex- 
actly true, and Dr. Peyton knew it, has no business capacity. The 
Chevalier made me the trustee, and I’ve got more power even than 
most trustees. I am not even obliged to pay you the entire income 
unless I choose. This is not a family legacy for all the Brandons. It 
is yours. If you Avere to marry, I would take care that your husband 
did not make ducks and drakes of it.” 

Anne’s first impulse was to say, I shall not marry,” but the last 
speech nettled her. 

Then I should say, if you didn’t allow me a reasonable voice in 
the disposal of my own property, you would be a mean and ill- contrived 
man,” she announced, with spirit. 

The doctor fidgeted uneasily for a minute. When his feelings were 
interested, he was apt to blurt out things he did not mean to say. This 
mystery about Anne and Henry Weston puzzled him. Why in the 
devil, the doctor had sometimes pettishly said, didn’t they get married ? 
The Chevalier had spoken as if it could never be; but perhaps the 
obstacle might be removed, or might only have existed in his imagi- 
nation. 

If — if — in fact, the Chevalier told me as much on the night of his 
death — you should marry — Henry Weston, it would be carrying out 
the Chevalier’s wishes that he should be — liberally treated. I don’t 
say I AAmuld permit the absolute control ” 

Don’t trouble yourself,” said Anne, coldly. ‘‘ We shall never be 
married.” 


94 


HALE^WESTON. 


Mr. Brandon^s felicitations to his daughter were characteristic : 

Behold, we are an heiress. We shall have scores of lovers. Our 
eyes will be pronounced finer than Elizabeth’s. Elizabeth, my poor 
child, you are no longer the family beauty.” 

Elizabeth, whose heart was not bad, and who really rejoiced for her 
sister, besides rejoicing for the share she would undoubtedly have in 
Anne’s good fortune, was yet not insensible to the fact that her position 
would be considerably altered. She therefore rose with dignity and 
left the room. 

Papa,” said Anne, how can you ? You know Elizabeth is — 
sensitive ” 

Since when ? Come, Anne, don’t be a fool.” 

Well, then, if Elizabeth is rather silly, that’s no reason why she 
should be teased and worried. Now, I don’t mind what you say.” 

Anne, I believe you.” 

Let us be comfortable together. Dr. Peyton pretends he means 
to be very strict with the money ; but the income at least I will man- 
age to get hold of. I shall coax and tease ” 

“ Alas, poor Peyton !” 

I am not the girl to have money and then not to have the benefit 
of it.” 

That you are not.” 

^^Papa,” presently said Anne, in a voice that trembled a little, 
you have not really congratulated me yet. Are you not glad for me, 
and grateful for me too ?” 

Mr. Brandon did a very remarkable thing for him. He drew his 
daughter to him and kissed her on her forehead : 

My affectionate, dutiful, self-willed child !” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Mrs. Weston, with a pang very like what Anne had felt, heard 
the great news. This money, and what she had saved, and Shabby 
Hall, — all that together would have been something for Henry ; and, 
sighing deeply, she took up the thread again of her sad thoughts. 

No such idea occurred to Henry Weston. Anne was not his. She 
never could be. Yet it was right and just and the happiest thing for 
her that she was put beyond the curse of poverty. 

It was now September, — that most melancholy season in a warm 
climate. Days of intense heat alternated with days of showers and east 
winds. The leaves all fell from the trees at once, as it were. They 
lay dank and yellow in the little garden at Shabby Hall and under the 
double row of stunted lindens that led up to the weather-beaten little 
house. For some days the black devil had possessed Henry Weston. 
He did not go to Hale- Weston, because his mother’s keen eyes could 
read his soul, and he would not let her see the state in which he found 
himself. Nor would he see Anne. In those hours of revenge and 
fury he always avoided her. He began to feel now that the time was 
fast approaching when he should set out on that bloodhound chase. It 


EALE-WESTON. 


95 


filled him with a dreadful kind of pleasure. He would retaliate on 
that man all the wrongs he fancied he had sufiered from mankind. He 
fell into that condition of mind when the whole world appears black 
and distorted. Jake, kis faithful serving-man, feared to face him, he 
was so terrible in his wrath over the merest trifles. Keziah and Hector 
kept out of his sight. Like a wounded tiger in a jungle, he paced up 
and down his narrow room day and night. He had felt nothing like 
this since that awful time before his illness. 

It was towards evening of the third day that Jake slipped in and 
silently placed before him a package of newspapers. Henry Weston 
turned them over gloomily. There were no letters. He returned to 
his ceaseless walk. The wailing of the wind, the occasional gusts of 
rain, seemed to madden him. Suddenly the necessity for self-control 
appeared to him. He reflected that he might be guilty of some des- 
perate act ; he might, in one of his strange furies with Jake, do his 
faithful servant harm. He went to his bookcase, and, taking down a 
volume, set himself the hard task to turn his mind into a new channel, 
— to read the printed words, — to follow their meaning. It was trying 
work, yet he persevered. Between him and the page came Jeanne’s silly 
face. He recalled with painful exactness every solecism of speech and 
behavior she had ever committed. He saw Adolphe Leroux’ scared 
eyes when he, Henry Weston, should advance upon him and tell him 
that his hour was come. He got up and threw the book from him, and 
ground his teeth. Then he forced himself to take it up again. 

Towards midnight the tumult in his mind had somewhat abated. 
He could not sleep, and he dared not think. He saw the pile of news- 
papers before him. Some were American, some French, some English. 
He tore off the covers and began to read, leaving his chair for the sofa. 
His lamp had burned low, and he lighted two candles. 

It was near three o’clock, when he uttered a sharp cry, like a 
woman’s hysterical shriek. 

He was free ! he was free ! 

Right before him was it. It was in one of those small and dingy 
sheets which were called newspapers in France fifty years ago : 

The .English colony are deeply disturbed in regard to a certain 
pseudo-clergyman, calling himself the Rev. Charles Wey bridge, who 
has been in Paris for three years past. He even visited at the English 
Embassy, and was frequently seen there, which, considering his career, 
shows unexampled boldness. He was an escaped criminal from Eng- 
lish prisons. He had never received orders, but the similarity of name 
with another English clergyman, who, it now turns out, died in a mad- 
house before the impostor made his appearance, contributed to the success 
of his scheme. He succeeded in borrowing large sums of money. A 
member of the police from Scotland Yard took him in charge yesterday, 
and he is now on his way to England.” 

For some moments after that cry, Henry Weston found himself 
absolutely numb and motionless. Then the overpowering desire to find 
out all of it returned to him. There was much more of it in the paper. 
It had evidently been a first-class sensation. He seized the English 
papers of the same date. Yes, there it was also. There was no doubt 


96 


HALE-WESTON. 


of the imposture. The supposed Weybridge had broken down and 
confessed. He was no clergyman. He had never been a clergyman. 
Henry Weston went out of doors and walked up and down under the 
linden-trees until morning. 

- V. The wind and rain had ceased, and the full moon was shining bril- 
liA^ly. A shadowy mist lay over the lowlands, but the tips of the 
trees were white with the soft radiance. Occasionally, as a light breeze 
swept through the trees, the drops of rain would roll off in a silvery 
shower. There was not a sound, not even the note of a night-bird, to 
vex the unbroken silence. 

Henry Weston was not what is called a religious man, but some im- 
^ pulse, as old as humanity, as deep and far-reaching as the human soul 
' itself, cast him upon the ground to return thanks to the Supreme Power, 
' — thanks not so much for what might be given him as for what he had 
been spared. He heard the voice of the Most High, as Adam did in 
Paradise. He need not be a murderer. He had been absolved from 
the law that to him was omnipotent. Pain and grief he could bear as 
became a man, but guilt and shame had turned, him into a fiend. 

It seemed but an hour to him when the rosy dawn succeeded the 
moonlit night. By that time the thought of Anne Brandon had made 
itself felt. His heart was like to break with joy. And then the hap- 
piness he was to carry to that sad woman at Hale- Weston ! He turned 
and faced Hale- Weston, where he could see the stately old house out- 
lined against the opalescent sky. The long lances of light, the advance- 
guard of the sun, were piercing the horizon. The magnolias reared their 
imperial heads, still brave in their foliage of dark and polished green. 
The air was clear and crisp, and a little chilly. Afar off, he could see 
the blackbirds and the swallows and the larks w’hich his mother loved 
and protected, wheeling about the tall chimneys. And for the first time 
he could behold it all without a pang. 

The loss of Hale-Weston had cut deeper than anybody suspected. 
He had imbibed his mother’s love and pride regarding it. In all his 
dreams of the future he had proudly fancied himself Weston of Hale- 
Weston, a county magnate, the owner of vast acres. He had been 
amazed, almost ashamed of the keenness of the grief he had felt on 
losing it. His pride had impelled him to hide it. The world might 
have thought it was its mere money value he regretted, but to him 
it was the dignity, the position, the prestige that attached to a great 
' land-owner in those days. But now, — ah, he could afford to lose Hale- 
‘ Weston! Would he not have Anne Brandon ? Would he not once 
\Qore walk the earth a free man, his life as open as day, with nothing 
to conceal, nothing to avenge? — for if Jeanne was not his wife, Adolphe 
was more than welcome to her. 

The morning came apace. It was a glorious September day, a day 
all blue and gold, the final Hush I” of summer as she stands ready to 
take flight. Jake and Hector and Keziah saw that something had 
happened to their young master. Immediately after breakfast he called 
Jake up and gave him a letter to be conveyed across the fields to 
Hale-Weston. It was to be given into no hands but Mrs. Weston’s. 
Then, mounting his horse, he rode over to Sparrow Point. Half-way 


HALE- WESTON. 


97 


between the places, in the shaded woodland road, he saw Anne on 
horseback, coming towards him. She had given her horse the rein, and 
he cantered along briskly. Something like tlie premonition of good 
news had come to her. Her face was flushed, and her eyes shone 
brightly under her broad black hat. Henry Weston rode straight 
towards her and laid his hand on her rein. The two horses put their 
noses together and exchanged confidences. 

Everybody ought to be in the saddle this morning,’^ cried Anne, 
ga}dy.^ I was going And then she stopped. There was some- 

thing in Henry Weston’s face that checked her. 

Anne,” he said, gravely, ‘‘I was coming to you. In the middle 
of last night I found out that I was a free man, — free to love, free to 
marry. Why do you tremble and turn pale?” 

Wherever Anne was going, she did not get there that day. An 
hour afterwards they were walking their horses up and down the narrow 
lane. Anne’s face was quite glorified. Their love-making was rather 
serious. They had been too near the gulf to be light of speech. 

Mrs. Weston, in a fever of impatience, walked up and down the 
stone porch at Hale- Weston. She had not condescended to tell Algy 
and Maria that she had that day received good news. Indeed, the evil 
from which she had been delivered she desired more than ever to con- 
ceal. 

It was high noon when she saw Henry Weston and Anne Brandon 
coming briskly down the avenue. They were riding fast, as merry 
young people do ; for at last it had come to them that they had youth 
and love on their side, and happiness, that had been at first timid, had 
thrown wide her wings and mounted to the heavens. Algy and Maria 
could not imagine what had happened, — what was going to happen. 
They saw Mrs. Weston standing on the top step of the portico, pale, 
with tears dropping upon her white dress, — for on this day she had for 
the first time laid aside her sombre black gown. They saw Henry 
Weston take his mother passionately in his arms, and then Mrs. Weston 
embraced Anne. After a while the legal master and mistress — although 
in truth Mrs. Weston monopolized all of the authority of both — came 
out on the cool stone porch where they sat. Mrs. Weston and Henry 
and Anne talked very much as usual, but they looked altogether different. 
Mrs. Weston’s eyes glowed strangely. 

Anne would not stay to dinner, and after Henry Weston had swung 
her into her saddle he too mounted, and they rode ofP, kissing their 
hands to Mrs. Weston. In a few days it all came out. They were 
engaged. The only wonder was, as Mrs. Thorpe said, they had not 
become engaged before. 

And,” said that excellent woman, as she handed tea to Mr. Steptoe 
on one side of her round table and Dr. Peyton on the other, I don’t 
wish to take too much credit to myself, but I claim a share in making • 
the match. I was always telling Anne what a fine young man Henry 
Weston was, Hale-Weston or no Hale-Weston ; and I said to him, ^ De- 
pend upon it, Anne Brandon is the girl for you, though she’s nothing 
like as handsome as Elizabeth.’ ” 

Mr. Steptoe put down his tea fretfully. Zounds, madam,” he 

VoL. XLIII.— 7 


98 


HALE-WESTON. 


cried, Elizabeth Brandon is the most consummate simpleton ! Hand- 
somer than Nancy ! — fudge !” 

Dr. Peyton’s comment was as follows : 

I only wish, madam, that you had set your mind to it before and 
carried it out earlier. It would have saved us all a good deal of dis- 
appointment and apprehension.” 

As the first sign that they had left behind them the last two mel- 
ancholy years, they fell to quarrelling, as they had done all their lives 
until the dreadful time had come to pass. Anne, with some diffidence, 
told of what Dr. Peyton had said to her regarding the Chevalier 
Vaughan’s legacy. 

You don’t know how happy it makes me,” she said, ^Hhat you 
are saved from poverty. I don’t think you are fitted to be a poor 
man.” 

I am glad, too,” he said, but not half as glad as I thought I 
should be.” 

Those were sweet words for her to hear. He went on : 

'‘We could be quite happy at Shabby Hall as it is. That is, I 
could.” 

"But we could be a great deal more comfortable if we had a nice, 
roomy house, and all the horses and carriages we wanted.” 

"You always had a much more sordid soul than I. I remember 
once when I was going away to school you wept profusely until I gave 
you a bundle of molasses-candy. Then you saw me depart without a 
tear.” 

" I controlled my feelings with difficulty.” 

They joked a great deal about their childish days, but not about 
those later and darker ones. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Mrs. Westox, when the time rolled around, made her demand 
upon Algy for her allowance; and, although increasing difficulties 
made it harder than ever to pay, she got it promptly, if grudgingly. 
With this she had Shabby Hall transformed into a comfortable country- 
house, and the farm properly stocked. Fortunately, there were trees 
in plenty around it, and the lawn was newly turfed. Mrs. WevSton felt 
her natural pride rebel at the idea of Henry Weston’s wife, an heiress in a 
modest way, not being suitably housed and attended ; and a great deal 
could be done with the considerable sum in ready money which she 
possessed, when judiciously expended. Henry Weston’s feelings in the 
matter she ignored. She considered the money as but a small share of 
that of which he had been unjustly deprived. 

So Henry Weston and Anne Brandon were quietly married in Pets- 
worth Church by Mr. Steptoe, and went to their own house — still Shabby 
Hall in name, though not in condition — and spent their honeymoon. 
And then the whole county called on them. It filled Maria with envy 
as from her bedroom window she could see all day long carriage after 
carriage of the best people in the county rolling up to the door of the 


HALE-WESTON. 


99 


new Shabby Hall, when scarcely a dozen families had called on her at 
her marriage. Then, after a time, Mrs. Weston each morning would 
order the coach-and-four and send over after Anne and Henry Weston, 
who, feeling very guilty on Marians account, yet had no choice but to come 
when Mrs. Weston sent for them ; and with her they returned the wedding 
visits in great style. Both Henry Weston and Anne protested ; they 
saw the mortification it caused Maria and Algy, at whose wedding all 
these things had been conspicuously omitted ; but Mrs. Weston only 
laughed and insisted upon having her own way. 

And, to cap the climax, she gave Anne as a wedding gift her great 
pearl necklace with the ruby pendant which she had bought at Rundell 
and Bridge’s, in London, fifteen years before, and had cherished — as 
well she might — as the apple of her eye. She had diamonds in plenty, 
but, as she said sometimes before Maria, who adored diamonds, Pearls 
are the luxury of a refined taste. They cost so much, and they show 
so little.” 

The young people did not want for company. Mr. Steptoe came 
often. Dr. Peyton oftener. Mr. Brandon came over occasionally to 
point out to Anne defects in her new home, which she bore with much 
good humor and only occasionally retaliated. Elizabeth, who, at twenty- 
four, began to appreciate having a married sister, did not fail in sisterly 
attention. Often they spoke of the Chevalier, but, by tacit consent, 
not before Mrs. Weston. 

Meanwhile, with Algy, things were going from bad to worse. 
Hale- Weston was a place in which economy was hard to practise; and 
then Mrs. Weston did not leave room for any. When the third annual 
payment of her allowance became due, Algy for once rebelled against 
his mother. 

I can’t keep on raising this amount every year, with the way the 
place costs, and the way we fail at everything,” he said, with sulky 
violence. 

Then Mrs. Weston made him an offer to which she had been de- 
terminedly leading up for some time past. 

“ Algernon,” she said, steadily, I think you ought to be convinced 
by this time that you cannot manage the place ; and as for Maria ! — 
Everybody knows how much depends on the mistress on one of these 
plantations. Now, I have a proposition to make to you.” 

Algy glanced at his mother. He was not a bad fellow, but he was 
a dreadfully weak one. 

As things are now going,” continued Mrs. Weston, in her ‘‘busi- 
ness voice,” cool and musical and determined, “ you are yearly com- 
pelled to pay a high price for — for the pleasure of my company.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” said Algy, and groaned in spirit. 

“ That is a considerable item from the revenue of the place ; and 
the revenue has decreased exactly one-half since your father’s death.” 

“ Yes, ma’am,” repeated poor Algy again. 

“If this keeps up, it will involve the other land, the bank-stock, 
the entire rest of the estate. Don’t you think, if you had a sum in 
ready money, and the rest secured on the place, with my release from 
the annuity you pay me, you would part with the house and the home 


100 


HALE-WESTON. 


tract — Hale-Weston proper — and about fifty negroes ? You would still 
have two-thirds of the land left, and the house in the Highlands. 
Hale-Weston has made or ruined everybody who has owned it. It 
hasn’t made you, Algernon.” 

Algy got up and sat down again. He turned pale. The idea of 
parting with Hale-Weston had never occurred to him before. 

I’ll — I’ll — see Maria !” he gasped, and vanished. 

Maria, from her soul, hated to leave Hale-Weston. She was always 
hoping that the day would come when she would indeed be mistress of 
that great place. But it had not come, and it seemed farther off than 
ever. But the more the proposition was considered, the more evident 
it became that it would be well to accept it. The annuity to Mrs. 
Weston was what swamped them. She had them in the grip of her 
small white hand, and she made them feel it. The amount must be in 
ready money, which was scarce everywhere in those times. In vain 
Algy offered so many hundred bushels of corn quarterly. She would 
have none of it. Then he changed his offer to so many hundred 
bushels of wheat. Mrs. Weston was inexorable. Then a share in the 
crops. Mrs. Weston laughed at him. 

She succeeded in thoroughly frightening Algy. She promised to 
live forever. Then Toinette’s expenses would of course increase in- 
stead of decreasing. Maria longed to have a town-house in Richmond 
or Baltimore. Mrs. Weston persuaded her that Algy would make a 
splendid business-man, and he was certainly no farmer. After all, the 
annuity was the great weapon. Maria became convinced that she would 
have but little ready money as long as this annual drain went on under 
the present system ; and when Maria’s consent was wrung from her, the 
battle was won. 

Then came the negotiations with Dr. Peyton ; for both Henry 
Weston and his wife were in his power. There was no doubt about it 
that it was a good bargain under the circumstances. Henry Weston 
was a natural-born farmer. The first crops at Shabby Hall had been 
due to Jake and Hector; but Henry Weston, with hired hands, man- 
aged to bring forth crops upon the land that showed he understood 
Nature, the mighty mother. Mrs. Weston reminded Dr. Peyton that 
the late Mr. Weston had bought Hale-Weston under great encumbrances 
and had easily paid them off. Algy’s failure as a country gentleman 
was as conspicuous as Henry’s success. So she reasoned with eloquent 
tongue and clear head. As for her annuity, she would gladly compro- 
mise on about one-third of what she received from Algy ; and she inti- 
mated to the good doctor that Henry would never be pressed for that. 

And Toinette?” asked the doctor. 

Mrs. Weston blushed slightly. She was apt to forget at times that 
she had but one child, and that, her eldest son. She would make Algy 
provide for Toinette, she said, confidently. Dr. Peyton, seeing how she 
had terrorized Algy, fully believed her. Half of Anne’s legacy w’ould 
make the first payment. Then for the second would be what Shabby 
Hall would sell for; and it was worth four times as much as ever be- 
fore : besides an unexpended balance Mrs. Weston would advance, and 
the profits of the plantation, to provide for the succeeding payments. 


HALE- WESTON. 


101 


Anne, who was not deficient in pride of place and position, was eager 
for it. Henry Weston said little about it. Dr. Peyton tried to get 
something from him on the subject, but failed. Then, urged by Anne, 
Dr. Peyton formally signified his consent. Henry Weston^s consent 
was a mere form. Anne could scarcely make out his feelings on the 
subject, until one day, in desperation, she came to him. 

I want Hale-Weston,’^ she said to him. I want it for myself as 
well as for you. Dr. Peyton wants to buy it. Your mother says it 
will kill her to be disappointed now. 'Yet — yet, if you do not want it, 
my husband, all this shall go for nothing.’^ ) 

What answer could he make ? He did want it ; he wanted it so 
earnestly that he was ashamed of his coveting what was another man’s, 
and that man his brother. But he was afraid lest this desire was too 
plain to his wife. But in that moment they understood each other ; 
and that day six months Algy went up to the Highlands estate, and 
Henry Weston came into possession of Hale- Weston. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

In coming to Hale-Weston, Anne had made up her mind that many 
sacrifices would be required of her, and was prepared to make them. 
Although it was distinctly understood that Henry Weston became 
master and his wife mistress, yet Anne hardly thought that Mrs. Wes- 
ton would keep strictly within the letter of the agreement. She thought 
Mrs. Weston’s luxurious habits, her custom of command, would re- 
quire both judgment and self-command from her son and daughter-in- 
law to govern, and perhaps combat. But from the day they entered 
the house Mrs. Weston resigned her empire with a strange suddenness. 
She laid down her sceptre absolutely. Anne could not quite under- 
stand it. 

You see,” said Mrs. Weston, half apologetically, I don’t feel 
obliged to assert myself. A lady is once more mistress of Hale- Wes- 
ton. It was that odious Maria I was bound to suppress.” 

But there was another reason. 

A long time before, — nearly a year, — Mrs. Weston had felt a slight 
— a very slight — pain. Sometimes it was present, again it went away, 
but it always returned. 

She set herself resolutely to forget it; but, although she was a 
resolute woman, she could not altogether drive it from her mind. She 
said to herself, about the time the transfer of Hale-Weston was first 
broached, that she would take care of herself for six months, and at 
the end of that time the pain, dull and fitful in its comings and goings, 
would be gone. Yet she did not fully believe this, because, in impress- 
ing upon Algy her perfect health and strength and determination to 
live forever, she thought to herself sometimes, with a grim humor, 
‘^I may be deceiving him, after all. I wish to believe that I shall be 
long-lived, but ” 

She had thought after the desire of her heart was accomplished, 
and Henry Weston was once more master of Hale-Weston, she would 


102 


HALE-WESTON. 


be well. Everything prospered with those dear to her. Good manage- 
ment and economy on the part of both master and mistress, willing 
negroes, and fortunate seasons, combined to make Hale-Weston more 
profitable than it had been for many years. The cheerful society of 
the handsome young pair, the sound of the long-silent piano under 
Anne’s skilful touch, Toinette’s dawning beauty on her annual visit 
home, the universal respect and popularity which Henry Weston en- 
joyed, ought to have made headway against that slight but persistent 
pain. But it did not. Henry Weston was, without solicitation on his 
part, elected one of the magistrates of the county, — a very great honor 
for a young man in those days. It filled his mother’s heart with pride ; 
but in the midst of the congratulations of the neighbors — Mrs. Thorpe 
coming over in her great lumbering carriage, even Mr. Brandon for- 
getting to be sarcastic — the pain struck her like the pealing of a death- 
bell. 

She loved life, and she feared and hated to die. In truth, so full 
of vitality had she been that she had never seriously brought herself 
to think she would really die. She felt, but for this pain, just as she 
always did. She examined her face carefully in the glass, and her 
heart leaped. No woman with her firm, round cheek, her clear and 
dainty complexion, could be anywhere near death. She combed out 
her long and abundant tresses. There were not so many gray hairs in 
them as in Henry Weston’s dark locks, and she had been twenty when 
he was born. 

The weather was chilly, and she took a violent cold. It made her 
very ill, — a strange thing for a mere cold. She kept her old rooms, — 
her bedroom and sitting-room in the corner of the wing,-5rand Keziah, 
who had returned with her young master and mistress to Hale-Weston, 
was, as of old, her nurse and attendant. Henry Weston and Anne 
were very attentive to her. They read to her. Such a comfort,” she 
said, to live in the house again with people who like books ! Algy 
and Maria, I declare, nearly bored me to death !” But she seemed in 
no haste to get down-stairs again. Dr. Peyton, who had come as soon as 
she was taken, was puzzled that she did not get well. One day, sitting 
by her sofa, she suddenly told him about the pain. All night long it 
had racked her. As she described it, tersely and graphically as was 
her habit, she found herself watching Dr. Peyton’s face. It was a 
ruddy, homely, sensible face. Nature had been in a benevolent mood 
when she made it, but she had worked with a rough chisel. She saw a 
gradual paleness steal over it. He had loved her well, and he could 
not bear to lose her. She suddenly sprang up and seized his arm. 

You are frightened !” she gasped. I thought you would laugh 
at me. Why don’t you laugh at me ?” 

She fell back, overcome with horror ; and he, too, was overcome. 
He was used to seeing women meet these things bravely ; few of them 
are daunted at such moments ; but this woman, whose courage he had 
thought invincible, was stricken with terror. She recover^ herself 
first. 

I am ashamed of this fear,” she said. 

And I,” said the doctor, am ashamed that at my time of life I 


HALE-WESTON. 


103 


should have so little self-control, — that I should frighten where I ought 
to encourage.^’ 

Then he tried to prove his honest face had lied. Mrs. Weston cut 
him short contemptuously : 

“Other people get well, — some have been known to live twenty 
years. Nevertheless, I shall not get well, nor yet live twenty years.’’ 

She made him promise he would not let Henry Weston or Anne 
suspect anything. Yet they both felt a vague uneasiness when Dr. 
Peyton, without speaking to them, came straight down from Mrs. 
Weston’s rooms, and, with a white and changed face, got in his gig 
and drove off. 

After that Mrs. Weston adopted a semi-invalidism which was 
very comfortable and not unbecoming. She lay upon her sofa up- 
stairs, or came down on Henry Weston’s arm, smiling and lovely, 
wearing a white peignoir and a bewitching little lace cap ; but neither 
by day nor by night did the pain leave her, nor did her mind cease 
its active working. 

She had always been a thinking woman, and she seized upon any 
idea presented to her and worked it out to its conclusion. Seeing that 
life, therefore, was to be with her a matter of but a little time, she be- 
gan to reflect upon the chaotic and unknown future. She asked herself 
if she had ever practised or even seen any religion. She vvas forced to 
acknowledge she had not. She belonged to a church-going (iomrnunity, 
but church was simply a place to show off horses and carriages and clothes, 
and to gossip. She remembered that some of the bitterest quarrels she 
had ever known had occurred in the grove that surrounded Petsworth 
Church, where the people assembled every Sunday to exchange greet- 
ings. Mr. Steptoe was an honest, well-meaning man; Mrs. Weston 
did not think his spiritual ministrations impaired by the fact that he 
never missed a meeting at Foxtown race-course, where he strode about 
the quarter stretch with his hands in his pockets, nor by the matches he 
slyly arranged between his thunder- bolts, as he called his own fighting- 
cocks; and those of the tavern-keeper in the village. But in all those 
years she could not recall one single gleam of light that he had thrown 
upon the mystery called religion. Slie herself had given great scandal 
by her practice of playing upon the piano on Sunday ; but the people 
who denounced her had no scruples about making Sunday the busiest 
day in the week for their cooks and scullions and hostlers. She tried 
to divest herself of her belief in the immortality of the soul. She 
wished, but she could not. Something, like that whic^h inspired the 
philosophers of old, rose within her to affirm that there was an un- 
quenchable spark in every human soul. 

Her condition was truly pitiable. She would ask no counsel of any 
one, but, lying in her bed at night, or on her sofa by day, with that re- 
morseless pain devouring her, she pondered over her past and her future. 
Of a Supreme Being and an implacable justice she was well convinced ; 
and, after thinking over her whole life, she began to fear greatly. She 
went back to her early years, — to her conduct towards her father and her 
mother, — towards her husband, — towards the Chevalier Vaughan, even, 
— towards her children. All these things returned to her like scorpions. 


104 


HALE-WESTON. 


She was an acute but not a just woman. She forgot, in her stern 
judgment, that she had not been a bad wife, nor even an actively bad 
mother, because Algy’s timorous nature and small brain would have 
landed him just where he was in any event. She forgot that she had 
been an indulgent mistress, a generous neighbor : she forgot a good deal 
that was in her own favor. 

After a while the pretty invalidism came to an end. She went up- 
stairs now, and seldom came down. Occasionally Henry Weston would 
bring her down in his arms and she would take a little airing in the 
carriage. Once she insisted that no one should accompany iier but the 
faithful old Keziah, who was twenty years older than her mistress, but 
as hale as ever she was in her life. She had the carriage stopped at 
Petsworth Church, and, leaning upon Keziah^s arm, she crept like a 
wounded thing to the Chevalier Vaughan’s grave. It was quite green 
now. Yes, she had slain him. But for her, he would have married ; 
he would be now living, with sons and daughters around him. His 
life, except where she had marred it, had been singularly blameless. 
She knelt down and repeated, mechanically, some form of prayer, in 
which she had little belief and less confidence. Keziah almost had to 
carry her back to the carriage. 

She began to count the weeks, the days, — soon the hours, — between 
her and the eternal brink. An invisible hand beckoned her onward to 
everlasting darkness, and she followed with unwilling feet. Toinette 
now had come home. Algy and Maria were there daily. Henry 
Weston and Anne were unceasing in their attention. Dr. Peyton spent 
every hour he could spare — many when his conscience called him else- 
where — at the house. Yet she did not wish them about her. Their 
faces, in spite of their self-control, told her too plainly how near was 
the end. They sat in the little anteroom, and she lay in her bed in her 
own large pleasant room, with Keziah sitting by her. 

Keziah, is it day or night?” 

“ ’Tis mos’ midnight, mistis.” 

Tell them all to go to bed. Leave the door to the sitting-room 
open, that I can see they go. Anne sat up all last night, although I 
had expressly forbidden her.” 

They went out lingeringly. 

“Now, Keziah, rub me. I wonder if in heaven there is anything 
better than the feeling of that hard old hand of yours, going up and 
down like a machine.” 

Hi, mistis ! In heaben dey’s got a heap o’ things better ’n dat, — 
de harps of gold, an’ de golden slippers ” 

They are for the good, Keziah.” 

Ain’t nobody good where Gord A’mighty is,” answered Keziah, 
with sturdy orthodoxy. We all has got ter repent.” 

But some people have never done any harm. There’s Anne, — a 
good, high-minded, sensible creature ever since she was a child.” 

Miss Anne she ain’t fitten fur ter wash de feet o’ de Lamb ; an’ 
she is a good ’ooman.” 

A long pause. 

Mistis,” said Keziah, presently, why don’t you sen’ fur Marse 


HALE^WESTON. 105 

Bev^ly Steptoe? He^s a preacher. He kin tell you heap mo’ ’bout 
heaben den I kin.” 

Keziah, he doesn’t know half as much about heaven as you do. 
You believe in the golden slippers as truly as I believe that God is 
mighty and revengeful and merciless.” 

She clung to Keziah with strange persistence. When Henry Wes- 
ton would have watched by her, she said, with a ghostly touch of hei 
old spirit, — 

I would rather have Keziah. You see, I’ve known her much 
longer than I have you.” 

The real comfort of Keziah was that to her she could speak freely ; 
nothing startled or shocked her, — not even when Mrs. Weston, with 
solemn and unbelieving eyes, contradicted all that Keziah preached of 
the mercy and goodness of de Lamb.” 

There was a brief respite from pain, and then the last hand-to- 
hand conflict began. 

It lasted four days. In all that time Dr. Peyton never left her 
for more than an hour. She was past protesting then. In her parox- 
ysms of pain she would seize Anne’s strong young hands. ‘‘Oh, 
my child,” she cried, “ how good it feels to touch something young and 
healthy and painless !” Henry Weston wept over her. Keziah was 
always awake, always on the alert. The pain, great as it was, did not 
once distract Mrs. Weston’s mind from the problem that she laboriously 
tried to solve. At last, when she had ceased to struggle, when the tide 
of lift was running out fast, she beckoned to Keziah. 

“ Keziah,” she whispered, “ I know there is a God. If I could 
live over my life, it would be altogether difierent. I feel a strange hope, 
amid my fear, for the .first time. What does it mean? Ask Anne. 
I have not strength to explain to her — what you know about my 
thoughts.” 

“ I doan’ want ter ask Miss Anne, ner nobody,” answered Keziah. 
“Eben po’ ole ign’unt Keziah know what dat means, mistis. Hit 
means dat Jesus Chris’ done tole you Hisself all you has been cipherin’ 
’bout. He kin wuk mighty quick, mistis ” 

But Dr. Peyton, who had held Mrs. Weston’s pulse, laid it down 
quietly, and, turning away, covered his face. It was all over. Angela 
Weston’s soul had gone 

Sounding on its dim and perilous way. 


THE END. 


106 


THE DEATH OF SUMMER. 


THE DEATH OF SUMMED. 

T he wind blows over the fields of clover, 

The wind blows over the fields of grain : 

I hear it sighing, “ Sweet Summer’s dying. 

Ah ! how I wish she were young again !” 

The flowers tender, on green stalks slender. 

To all their neighbors these tidings tell : 

“ Our heads we’re bending for Summer’s ending ; 
We’ll mourn the season we love so well !” 

The birdies chatter of this grave matter. 

Swinging high up in the walnut-tree. 

Says one small fellow, with breast of yellow, 

‘‘ Without dear Summer how dull ’twould be !” 

The sun o’erhears them, and, as he nears them, 
Says, in his mighty, powerful tone. 

Each season’s beauty performs its duty : 

So why love Summer, my friends, alone ?” 

The soft wind, sighing, is heard replying. 

In warmth I frolic, and rest, and play ; 

But when it’s snowing, then I’ll be blowing. 

And hard at work through the wintry day.” 

The timid flowers say, All our powers. 

When Summer’s with us, are most complete. 
We have good reason to love this season. 

For we must perish at her retreat.” 

The lark and swallow sing, “We shall follow 
Dear Summer southward, when she departs ; 
For we remember that cold December 

Would freeze our bodies and chill our hearts.” 

Then, all together, they say, “ Warm weather, 

0 Sun, we cherish, and hold most dear. 

So now we’re grieving for Summer’s leaving: 

To 145 she’s sweetest of all the year !” 


A. W. 


EDGAR ALLAN POE. 


107 


EDGAR ALLAN POE, 

OME men are born great, others achieve greatness, and others 
O have greatness thrust upon them.’^ The most conspicuous ex- 
ample among these last was the late Edgar Allan Poe. It was my 
good — or bad — fortune to come in contact with this unfortunate gentle- 
man in my twenty-first year. Here I must premise that I had met 
those who already knew him, and was to meet those who had known 
him before and after. I was scarcely twenty when Wiley & Putnam 
published “The Raven, and Other Poems.’’ One of my very early 
friends after Bayard Taylor was Dr. Rufus Wilmot Griswold, from 
whom I experienced nothing but personal kindness. I knew him be- 
fore Poe died ; was cognizant of his not unfriendly opinion of Poe ; 
was obliged by him with the present of Poe’s sonnet against Tucker- 
man (“ Seldom we find, says Solomon Don Dunce”), and was on terms 
of boyish intimacy with Mrs. Frances Sargent Osgood. Within a day 
or two after the death of Edgar Allan, I penned a copy of careless 
verses (“ Miserrimus”) which had more success than they deserved. I 
mention these facts to show that at this time I was not devoid of knowl- 
edge about the author of “ The Raven.” But before I go any farther 
in this direction I must retrace my rambling steps, and relate in as few 
words as possible my first and last acquaintance with this highly-gifted 
but ill-balanced man of genius. 

A great reader from boyhood, I happened to come across a volume 
of indifferent verses, written by an English officer, who, if my memory 
may be trusted, was, or had been, in the service of the East India Com- 
pany, and who, like others of his class, was tormented with the belief 
that he was a poet. He was evidently a descendant of the famous 
Person of Quality who figured among the wits of the time of Charles 
the Second ; who was noted among the beaux of the more polished days 
of Queen Anne, where he was bantered with mock admiration by Pope 
and Swift ; and who is not entirely unknown now, since he insists on 
besieging us with rondels, villanelles, and I know not what else in the 
shape of outworn fripperies. Well, this Major Richardson, true to 
the tradition that attached to his rank, went and wrote an “ Ode to a 
Grecian Flute.” It struck my fancy, ineffective as it was, for I was 
then under the spell of Keats. Yes, I was a poet also, and, since my 
master had written an “ Ode on a Grecian Urn,” I must needs write a 
companion-piece. Like all early writing, it was crude ; but there was 
promise in it. I worked over it, made a copy of it, and sent it to the 
editor of the Broadway Journal, in which I hoped it might appear. A 
week or two passed, and, as it did not appear, I went to ascertain its 
fate. It was a hot afternoon in June, and, with the direction furnished 
me by the publisher, I sought the residence of Mr. Poe. He received 
me with the courtesy habitual with him when he was himself, and gave 
me to understand that my Ode would appear in the next number of his 


108 


EDGAR ALLAN POE. 


journal. The next number appeared, but not my Ode. It was men- 
tioned, however, in Notices to Correspondents,^^ and dismissed with 
the curt remark that the editor declined to publish it unless he could 
be assured of its authenticity. 

Since penning the above lines, I have spent an hour or so in the 
spacious rooms of the Historical Society, the curator of which endeav- 
ored to help me to what I wanted, but with little effect. What he did 
find, however, was the following lines, which contain, so far as I 
remember, the first two mentions of my name by Poe. They appeared 
in the Broadway Journal of J uly, and are as follows : 

^‘To the Author of the Lines on the Grecian Flute, We fear that 
we have mislaid the poem.’^ 

And a week later, this : We doubt the originality of the Grecian 
Flute^ for the reason that it is too good at some points to be so bad at 
others. Unless the author can reassure us, we decline it.’^ 

I was surprised ; any one in my situation would have been surprised. 
Not write that immortal production ! — why, I knew that I had com- 
posed it ! I thought then, I thought afterwards, and I know now, that 
Poe was no critic. Of course I called within a few days to authenticate 
my trifle. It was a forenoon, and a very hot one, in July. I plodded 
down from the east side of the town, southwardly, westwardly, through 
Lewis Street, Division Street, and Chatham Street, until I reached 
Clinton Hall, on the southwest corner of Beekman and Nassau Streets. 
It was then past noon, and of course the potent editor of the Broadway 
Journal had gone out to his luncheon, with Briggs, or English, or some 
other Bohemian with whom he had not yet fallen out. “ Not in, sir,’^ 
ejaculated the fatuous publisher. I walked away, and cooled myself 
by wandering in and out of the Park, in that intolerable July after- 
noon. Beturning with my thin blood at fever-heat, I was informed 
that Poe was in his sanctum. He was awakened either by myself or 
his publisher, and was in a very stormy mood. When summoned back 
to earth he was slumbering uneasily in a very easy chair. He was 
irascible, surly, and in his cups. 

^^Mr. Poe,’’ I ventured to remark, meekly, ^^I saw you two or 
three weeks ago, and I read in your paper that you doubted my ability 
to write ” 

“I know,” he answered, starting up wildly. You never wrote 

the Ode to which I lately referred. You never ” But the reader 

may imagine the rest of this unfortunate sentence. I was comminated, 
and threatened with condign personal chastisement. I left quickly, but 
was not, as I remember, downcast. On the contrary, I was compli- 
mented, flattered. The great American Critic had declared that I could 
not write what I had written. The thing was so good and so bad that 
if he had possessed the least critical insight he would have known that 
the stripling before him was the penman of the lines. 

Do I blame Poe? The gods forbid ! With a race of hardy New 
England sailors behind me, and behind him a stock of hard-drinking 
Marylanders, his father an inefficient player, and his mother a fairly 
good English actress and vocalist, — who am I, pray, that I should 
censure anybody? I remember here two or three thoughts of our 


EDGAR ALLAN POE. 


109 


Master. One which Sir Walter liked so much, even in the mouth of 
lago ; 

Tush, man, the wine she drinks is made of grapes. 

Another, from Hamlet : ” 

There’s nothing good or bad. 

But thinking makes it so. 

And, best of all. 

In Nature’s infinite book of secrecy 
A little I can read. 

But before I go on, I must go back, — very far back. Born in 
Massachusetts, of good English and Scottish blood, as the name signi- 
fies, I always knew how to read ; always hated hymns and pitied 
their writers ; and, after many hardships, reached New York in my 
eleventh year. My first incentive to verse w^as Robert Burns ; my 
second, the death of a sickly Methodist boy ; my third, Keats. But 
before these came Shakespeare, Milton, and Byron. And the influence 
of Keats was greater than all in my nonage. I devoured Endymion,^^ 
of which I repeat by heart many glorious passages after more than forty 
years, and which I strove to imitate, as my dead-and-gone Ode will 
show, if I can ever recover it. This roundabout journey ought to bring 
me back to Poe, who was only at his best (as it seemed to me) in his 
smaller verses ; who was not a critic ; and who, like others whom I 
knew before, and have known since, and expect to know to the end, 
was constitutionally unveracious. He, and they, perhaps, were un- 
conscious. At any rate, the infirmity was hereditary, and therefore 
unavoidable. 

But to Poe, of whom I probably know all that is discoverable. A 
mathematician in his stories, which are marvels of ratiocination, he was 
a dunce respecting the lives of himself and his parents. He claimed to 
be a Southern writer, but he was ushered into the world, not in Rich- 
mond, not in Baltimore, but in Boston. He furnished Griswold with 
three dates of his birth, all supposititious, and the last impossible, in 
that his mother must have been dead two years ! And so with all the 
fanciful facts of his too short life. But, to go back for the second or 
third time, I have known many men and women who knew Poe, 
casually or closely, and their combined recollections have agreed in the 
main with my own. He was not of the race of Chaucer, for he was 
not gracious, and was without honor; nor of the race of Wyatt, Surrey, 
Sidney, and Spenser. He was of a different, a lower race than Daniel, 
Drayton, Jonson, and Shakespeare ; and was akin to the later drama- 
tists. If the reader of this rambling paper doubts the correctness of 
this oflP-hand observation, he should, out of respect to Poe and myself, 
read, if he can, Politian,’’ which was absurdly ambitious. 

Oblivious of what I may have said, but fully conscious of what I 
mean to say, Poe was a curious compound of the charlatan and the 
courtly gentleman ; a mixture of Count Cagliostro, of Paracelsus, 


110 


EDGAR ALLAN POE. 


who was wisely named Bombastes, and of Cornelius Agrippa, — the 
three beings intermoulded from the dust of Apollonius of Tyana and 
Elymas the Sorcerer. His first master in verse was Byron, in prose 
Charles Brockden Brown, and later Hawthorne. Most men are 
egoists ; he was egotistical. His early poems are exquisite, his later 
ones are simply melodious madness. The parent of Annabel Lee^^ 
was Mother Goose, who in this instance did not drop a golden egg. 
Always a plagiarist, he was always original. Like Moli^re, whom he 
derided, he took his own wherever he found it. Without dramatic 
instinct, he persuaded himself (but no one else) that he was a dramatist. 
The proof of this assertion is his drama of Politian,^^ which was 
never ended, and which should never have been begun. 

What did he look like ? may be asked by the reader of this gos- 
sipy paper. When I met him for the first time in the front parlor of 
the third story of the old house in East Broadway, he was dressed in 
black from head to foot, except of course that his linen was spotlessly 
white. I did not observe this at the time, though I recall it now, for 
the most noticeable things about him were his high forehead, dark hair, 
and sharp black eye. His cousin-wife, always an invalid, was lying on 
a bed between himself and me. She never stirred, but her mother came 
out from the back parlor, and was introduced to me by her courtly 
nephew. 

“ Your poem will appear, sir, next week.” 

Breathing a benediction upon the three, I stole down-stairs, and 
rambled slowly home. I saw Poe once again, and for the last time. It 
was a rainy afternoon, such as we have in our Novembers, and he stood 
under an awning waiting for the shower to pass over. My conviction 
was that I ought to offer him my umbrella and go home with him, but 
my conviction was a false one. I left him standing there, and there 
I see him still, and shall always, — poor, penniless, but proud, reliant, 
dominant. May the gods forgive me ! I never can forgive myself. 

Poe^s constitutional inability to distinguish between veracity and 
unveracity has produced a plentiful harvest of imitators, who have 
carried, and still carry, invention into downright falsehood. That most 
of their falsehoods have been levelled against me, has never pained me, 
or pained me only for their sake. Mr. James Hannay, a sound-hearted 
but hot-headed Scot, honored me by comparing me to the curs of Con- 
stantinople, which are not admitted to the cemeteries where the follow- 
ers of the Prophet slumber under the protection of their white turbans. 
Mr. Ingram and Mr. Rossetti have both, I believe, paid their common 
disrespects to me. Others among my own countrymen have expressed 
their ill opinion of me in books, in magazines, in newspapers ; some 
manfully over their signatures, others under noms de guerre. These 
curs roam at large under the alleys of cypress where the shadow of Poe 
wandered with his more shadowy Psyche. 

When Poe had ruined the Broadway Journalj as he would have ruined 
the Southern Literary Messenger^ and as he at last succeeded in ruin- 
ing his own life, he began — as we all remember, or ought to — a series 
of papers on The Literati” in Godey’s Lady's Book. Hercules at the 
feet of Omphale never twirled from her distaff such flimsy threads, as 


EDGAR ALLAN POE. 


Ill 


this needy poet with two sickly women on his lap. He praised every- 
body whom he liked, and dispraised all who, he fancied, did not like 
him. He was generous to Bayard Taylor, who deserved all the good 
words bestowed upon his magnificent verse : he was more than generous 
to the gentlewomen whom he, his wife, or his aunt loved and admired j 
notably so to Mrs. Osgood, Mrs. Oakes Smith, and others of the tune- 
ful sisterhood. But he was mean, he was stingy, he was parsimonious 
in the scanty words which he doled out to Bryant, to Lowell, to Long- 
fellow ; while to Hawthorne, his greatest master, he was miserly in the 
extreme. And he believed himself to be a critic. So, also, did lago. 

Like that of most men of talents, and all men of genius, the earliest 
work of Poe was. his best. This truth was contradicted by the first 
works of Shakespeare, which were wrought out painfully, but proven 
by the early sonnets of Milton, which are still unsurpassed, and glori- 
ously so by L^ Allegro,’’ II Penseroso,” and Comus.” The balance 
trembles in this scale in which posterity has weighed most earlier and 
all later British poets. But with regard to Poe there was no doubt. 
The lines to Helen,” Fairy-Land,” — in short, all his first songs, — 
are perfection ; containing and embracing 

The glory which was Greece, 

And the grandeur which was Kome. 

Several years ago I undertook to write an accurate memoir of our 
most subtle writer of psychological tales, and the most melodious of 
our lyrists. To fit myself for this task, I consulted the Southern Lit- 
erary Messenger, I read, by the help of Griswold, the juvenilia of 
Poe, of which I knew a little, but not enough. I found his first story, 
his first poem, and later on the versicles which he wrote and re-wrote, 
over and over again, selling them each time as the latest effusions of his 
pen. His invention was boundless, his execution limited, scanty, and 
sparse. He repeated himself thrice in his lines ^^To F. S. O.,” and 
bettered them each time. It was the same with his stories, which he 
repeated many times, over and under many pen-names. This strange 
fact was known to his foes, and his friends, who conceded it, his friends 
being his worst foes, and his worst foes the kindest of his few friends. 
But I have, or ought to have, noted these before in my casual jottings 
down for a biography of Poe. Griswold, who was greatly maligned, 
w^as the life-long friend of Edgar Allan. He loaned him moneys when 
he could ill afford to lose them, yet to loan was to lose, with Poe. 
Another friend was Horace Greeley; others were Chas. F. Briggs 
Harry Franco”), Thomas Dunn English (whom Poe bitterly but 
cleverly maligned), George R. Graham, L. A. Godey, John Sartain, 
Mrs. Kirkland ; all men and women most kindly disposed towards this 
unkindly person, who loved no one, not even himself, his wife, nor the 
devoted mother of both ; who might have said more truly than 
Timon, — 

I am misanthropes, and hate mankind. 

That Griswold was not the enemy of Poe was demonstrated by the 
fact that he collected and edited his verse and prose for nothing. The 


112 


EDGAR ALLAN POE. 


papers, if they are still extant, of the late Mr. J. S. Redfield, prove 
this, as well as the testimony of Mr. J. C. Derby, Mr. Cornelius Math- 
ews, Mr. John Sartain, and other common friends of all. But about 
the last days of Poe, and his journey to and from Bichmond, — on 
these points I have many authentic missives, which have been care- 
fully preserved in the identical envelopes wherein their communications 
reached me. To these memoranda (should I discover any serious 
blunders) I shall refer when this tortuous scribblement returns to me 
in type. Let me say here that ‘^The Bells’’ was sold thrice, and paid 
for every time ; that Annabel Lee” was sold twuce, and was printed 
by Griswold before it could appear either in So/rtain\ Magazine or 
in the Southern Literary Messenger, and when it possessed no literary 
value whatever. The files of the Tribune for October or November, 
1845, will show this, as well as my own poor verse, for which I did 
not receive either a penny or the doubtful compliment of the editor’s 
“ thanks.” But I had one friend there, — Bayard Taylor. 

Thirty years ago I was living in Brooklyn, where I met — not, I 
think, for the first time — a lady of that city, who wrote what she con- 
sidered poetry, of which she had published two or three pretentious 
volumes. She was the heroine of Poe’s sonnet Seldom we find,” 
wherein the initials of her name were cleverly concealed, in a sliding 
downward scale. This stellar scintillation whose twinkles have been 
extinguished, had one of her books illustrated by good artists, and her 
portrait painted by the best-known artist of forty years~ago, which por- 
trait faced the title-page of one of her great booklets, with, I imagine, a 
specimen of her ragged penmanship. 

I called by invitation one evening at the domicile of this songstress, 
who met me and my wife attired in a low-necked dress of flaming 
crimson tarlatan, and with dishevelled ringlets of the kind that once 
were called golden. She began her disjointed chat with the remark, 
I am but a child,” which certainly she was not (if she had ever 
been !), and introduced her husband, who was playing cards in his dress- 
ing-gown, and unslippered. He was a good fellow, as I suppose, but 
he did not pretend to be a boy, though he was less elderly than his 
bedizened worser half. Turning from these modern antiques of the 
Wardour Street pattern, we were introduced to Mrs. Clemm, who for 
business purposes all round was the guest of this clever couple. She 
was less elderly than I had expected, and was clad in black bombazine, 
with the regulation widow’s cap and white frills. She began by as- 
suring me that she had often heard her Eddie speak of me (which I 
doubted) ; and she also declared solemnly that she had often heard the 
convenient Eddie speak of the stripling who accompanied me (which 
was an impossibility). She gravely regretted to the pair of us her 
inability to supply any more autographs of her darling, but stated that 
she managed to manufacture them, since she could perfectly imitate his 
chirography. And all this as though it redounded to her credit ! 
Then she glanced back, and told me of the long winter nights in which 
he had made her walk up and down on the little porch of their cottage 
at Fordham, until her teeth chattered and she was nearly frozen. Her 
dear Eddie was a trifle iuconsidemte. But up-stairs, just over where 


EDGAR ALLAN POE. 


113 


we listened to the old darnels prattle, was the study of her hostess, — a 
small room, with a barred wicket, and I have no doubt many pass- 
words. Inside there was a large blackboard, whereon were inscribed in 
the whitest of chalk the inspirations of this gifted creature, in two or 
three languages and several dialects. Among those which I happen to 
recollect were such Orphic utterances as Sic transit gloria,’’ Lasciate 
esperanza voi che entrate,” Eurekem tokalos,” Quoth the Raven, 
Nevermore.” It was thus that singers were shapen thirty years 
ago ! ^ ^ 

But Eddie ” was more than inconsiderate — he was dishonest — in 
his treatment of this patroness, who paid him one hundred dollars to 
review one of her books, and who, on his neglecting to do so, very nat- 
urally complained of him. He did not deny her charges, but simply re- 
marked that if he reviewed her rubbish it would kill him. Nevertheless 
he did review it in the Southern Literary Messenger and in Graham^s 
Magazine^ sending his notes to Bayard Taylor with the request that 
he would insert as his own production. I had, before I lost it or gave 
it away, the note in which he made this preposterous request, which 
was of course complied with, and the tuneful soul of his gushing friend 
was thus propitiated. So unscrupulous at this period was the needy 
nature of Edgar Allan Poe. All this came back to me that cool sum- 
mer night in Brooklyn, when in the shabby back parlor of that ill-con- 
ditioned house I hearkened to the mendacious prattle of the forlorn old 
woman who loved her poor little daughter and the dead child’s dead 
husband so well. Meanwhile the card-playing went on, with the 
strumming of an untuned piano somewhere, the jangle of a hurdy-gurdy, 
whiffs of stale tobacco, and last, but this may be fancy, the clangor of 
fire-bells several squares away. Home under the glimmer of summer 
stars ; and so to bed, and dreams. 

That Griswold meant to be just to Poe, and that, telling much 
about him and his affairs wfbh questionable discretion now and then 
perhaps, he intended to deal kindly by him, was believed by Mrs. Os- 
good, Mrs. Clemm, Miss Lynch, and other gentlewomen who knew 
both ; and* was certain to Mr. Kennedy, Mr. Graham, Mr. Willis, Mr. 
Taylor, and other men who were capable of taking the measure of both. 
If he intimated too much, he withheld more. Let me pattern after 
him in this last particular. Wherever Poe went, he was pursued like 
Actseon by his own hounds. A spoiled child with the Allans in Rich- 
mond and England, a gambling student at Charlottesville, a riotous, 
dram-drinking cadet at West Point, a penniless soldier in Boston, he 
was the victim of heredity. Griswold was on the right track when he 
asserted that Poe enlisted as a soldier after his expulsion from West 
Point, and was later a deserter, but he was at fault in regard to the 
period of Poe’s enlistment, and erroneous in regard to his alleged deser- 
tion, which was mythical. It remained for Mr. Wood berry to recover 
the clue which enables us to traverse this maze nearly sixty years after 
its construction, and a clever piece of detective work it was, but not 
original with him, — whatever may have been his belief, — for it had 
been employed by the relatives of Coleridge in tracing that young poet, 
who enlisted in a company of horse, under a feigned name in which his 
VoL. XLIII.— 8 


114 


EDGAR ALLAN POE. 


baptismal and family initials were preserved, — a service which was re- 
membered by the boyish author of Tamerlane.” The worst of his 
trouble began with his discharge, was continued in Baltimore, and 
terminated for the moment in Richmond ; three episodes in his unfor- 
tunate career, which have been variously narrated from the time of Gris- 
wold down to the present day, but by no one so correctly as Mr. Wood- 
berry. They are so well known that I pass over them without a 
remark. We are tolerably familiar with Poe’s first residence in New 
York, whither he went for the purpose of publishing Arthur Gordon 
Pym,” with his subsequent residence in Philadelphia, and his connec- 
tion there with Burton, Graham, and Griswold, and his return to New 
York, his squabble with Briggs, Watson, and English, and his flitting 
thence to Fordham, and thence through Philadelphia, Baltimore, and 
Richmond, and his fatal journey to his cottage in sight of Long Bridge, 
— the poor but cosey little home which he was destined to see no more. 
All this has been told, over and over, with what else happened or was 
supposed to have happened to Poe during the last days and hours of 
his wild and disorderly life. I was, I believe, the first to make public 
the last scene in this strange, eventful history. I received the particu- 
lars after the appearance of the paper in Harpei'^s Magazine sixteen 
years ago, and in consequence of that imperfect paper, my chief au- 
thority being Mr. Nelson Poe, a surviving cousin of the dead poet, an 
elderly lady of Richmond who played with him in his boyhood, and 
Mrs. Sarah Helen Whitman, of Providence. At a later date I came 
into the possession of certain letters of Poe to Mr. F. W. Thomas, a 
forgotten novelist, and the replies of Mr. Thomas to these letters, which 
were painful reading. 

Many trials have been made in Europe and America to refine and 
clarify the brilliant qualities of Poe, but none that can be considered 
entirely successful. Distinguished in verse and prose, he had many 
masters in the first, and but two, or at most three, in the last. To 
those who are familiar with the three early versions of “ Tamerlane,” 
his first masters were Coleridge, Scott, and Byron, whose style and 
manner were caught and exhibited throughout these juvenilia. There 
is no need to insist upon this open secret, which everywhere betrays 
itself. Poe’s prose masters were Brown, whose master was Godwin, and 
Hawthorne, whose masters were both, to which we should probably add a 
third in the person of the German Hoffmann, whose sources of inspira- 
tion were music and wine. It is not likely he would have admitted his 
obligation to either, for he preferred above all things to be original ; but 
his indebtedness was too great to be cancelled by his own unsupported 
testimony. But whoever were his masters is a matter of no consequence, 
since the pupil sometimes bettered their instruction. There is a parade 
of erudition in his writing, but one need not be a scholar to perceive 
that his reading was superficial. He had a few pet citations which he 
wore threadbare. He insisted upon being regarded as a critic ; but in 
the sense that Arnold and Sainte-Beuve are critics, his pretensions are 
feeble. He was a sure judge of the Beautiful in verse, but, except 
at rare intervals, mostly in his early lyrics, he never attained it. The 
most that he captured was a mild loveliness, a pale melancholy, the 


SONG. 


115 


hectic bloom of decay, whose effacing fingers were sweeping away the 
lines of Beauty. 

He was at his worst in lyrics over shadowy women, such as Tenny- 
son sang about in his first book, — Lenores, Annabel Lees, and Ulalumes. 
His perception of the pathetic was sure, but he failed to distinguish the 
difference between the terrible and the horrible. Morelia,” found 
early in the Southern Literary Messenger, is repulsive, but not so much 
so as ‘‘The Case of M. Valdemar,” which is sickening. “The Fall 
of the House of Usher” and “ Ligeia” are gloriously imaginative. 
Most of his tales, which are fairly described by himself as grotesque 
and arabesque, and nearly all his poems, were the outgrowth of morbid 
fancies and diseased hallucinations, — apparitions which surrounded him 
in his hours of despondency, — spectres which haunted him in his seasons 
of madness, — were- wolves, ghouls, vampires. Begotten in mania apotu, 
they were born in the sobriety and sanity of this singular man. 

a. H. Stoddard. 


SONG. 

S WIFT as an arrow be thy flight, O Song ! 

Swift as an arrow, as an arrow strong. 

Forth from thy covert ! Angel of Belief! 

Barbed with my fury, feathered with my grief! 

Weakness thy goal be, and despair thy food ; 

The sweat of bondage and the tears of blood. 

Strike where thou canst the serpent and his breed. 

Fix in his head and fester in his seed. 

Sting with defeat ; with flames of victory fill 
A sullen anger and a vanquished will. 

Darkness shall fail, and falsehood from its force 
Fall like the fountain weakened at its source. 

Speed then. Bright Swiftness ! — and when thy masters dead. 
The bow that sent thee, and the hand that sped. 

Betray no word of him, no thought betray ! 

If weakness blast, or darkness blind his day. 

This, this alone be known, — that Thou art sent 
To man, from man, for man’s encouragement ! 

Langdon Elwyn Mitchell. 


116 


LITERARY SOCIETY AS SHE WAS SEEN. 


LITERARY SOCIETY AS SHE WAS SEEN. 

Apologue d> la Kriloff. 

G entle reader, did you ever see a cat in a pawnbroker’s window ? 

Old clothes tickle her ears, odd boots frame in her charms, and 
dilapidated hats form a bulwark for her virtue. 

She does not, however, allow herself to be compromised by her 
surroundings. 

Possessed of the aplomb peculiar to her race, she gazes upon the 
passers-by with the air of a feline La Bruy^re, a La Rochefoucauld, 
and a Francis Quarles. 

Her innocent yet wide-open golden eyes match the three golden 
balls over the door, and her secretive frankness of aspect is worthy of 
the Medici family. 

What this cat doesn’t know is really not worth knowing, and, 
although she sticks to the pawnbroking business because there’s money 
in it, she considers that the pawnbroking business was made for her, 
and not she for the pawnbroking business ! 


I was born a literary woman ! I wrote almost as soon as I could 
read, which period antedates my memory. At the age of ten I com- 
posed tales for the edification of my family and definitely made up my 
mind to be an old maid and write for the Atlantic Monthly. At 
fourteen I was a paid contributor to Our Young Folks. At sixteen 
I published sketches of European travel in Appletons^ Joumaly 
being well remunerated for them. At seventeen I wrote an heroic 
drama in blank verse, having for its subject the many trials of Cata- 
rina Cornaro, Queen of Cyprus.” At eighteen my first article in Lip- 
pincotls Magazine was published, and I received forty dollars for it, 
which made me dance with glee. 

My sketches of V enetian life which appeared in Appletons^ Journal 
attracted favorable attention on all sides. The editor of the magazine, 
one of the best literary critics in the country and noted for his benevo- 
lence to young writers, said many kind things concerning my work ; 
and it was this which clinched my determination to adopt literature as 
a profession. 

I grew up at Venice, Italy, training myself day by day, week by 
week, for the profession I had chosen. There was another reason for 
my close application to literary pursuits. I was a dowerless maiden. 
My mother gave me fair warning that if the “ invisible prince” didn’t 
come along in a very short time I’d have to go to work, and if I 
worked I’d have to go back to America by myself to do it, because, as 
she very properly remarked, she did not take kindly to literary spinsters 
as objects of home-decoration. I knew perfectly well that the invisi- 
ble prince” would not come along, for the simple reason that Italian 


LITERARY SOCIETY AS SHE WAS SEEN, ny 

princes do not marry American girls without dowries. I dare say that, 
in the course of time, by dint of manoeuvring and scheming, I might 
have managed to marry a poor but virtuous American art-student, or 
the sort of American young man who has something the matter with 
his brain or his stomach, or one of the kind that live by their wits as 
parasites on rich women and call it art and literature, or a choice ex- 
ample of the species whose family has shipped it to Europe to keep it 
out of state^s-prison or the gin-mill ! 

Marriage, regarded as a means of livelihood for poor young ladies, 
has never particularly commended itself to my independent soul. The 
blood which runs in my veins is the same that helped to make the 
American Declaration of Independence an accepted fact among the 
nations ; and in my case it crops out in Female Emancipation. 

The position of young women in Europe, even American girls, is 
pretty low down. Although I had become somewhat poor-spirited and 
submissive through the discipline of an aristocratic social system, where 
everybody kow-towed to everybody else and no woman dared say she 
had a soul of her own unless some other woman gave her permission, 
I still had enough native Yankee self-assertiveness left to unite with my 
acquired Italian subtlety and float me safely down the flood of Venetian 
teas’^ into the haven of New York professional literature. 

In order to encourage the young, I shall here state that I had 
earned my own pocket-money and most of my frocks by my writing 
from the time I was fourteen years old. I paid my own passage to 
America with money earned on Appletons^ Journal, I knew that I 
would have to begin to foot my own board-bill from the week I landed 
on my native shores. With the ignorance and insouciance of youth, I 
did not then appreciate the gravity of the situation. 

My mothers parting gift to me was her second-best gold bracelets 
and her four-hundred-dollar camePs-hair shawl. The first had been 
sported by me upon state occasions ; and when she handed them to me 
in company with my grandmamma’s Geneva watch, she remarked, 
cynically, As long as you hold on to these you’ll always have some- 
thing to ‘ pop’ !” Alas ! bracelets and watch were long ago stolen from 
me, and now I have nothing to pop” ! At the last moment I invited 
my mother to accompany me to America, but she thanked me politely, 
remarked that she’d had enough of the United States in former years, 
and said that she claimed the privilege of spending the rest of her life 
in a decent country, considering the Lido preferable to Greenwood 
Cemetery as an ultimate place of rest. Her farewell charge to me, 
after the manner of old Polonius, ran thus : 

“ You must go, because I can’t support you any longer. You have 
had a good European education, which you ought to be able to turn to 
account in America. You are well fitted for the ^ literary career’ you’ve 
always wanted. Now you’ve got your ‘ literary career,’ and you ought 
to be happy. But, for your own sake, you’d better not say much about 
writing for money or getting your own living, for if you do, you’ll 
certainly be called a Person !” 

It had already been noised about the snobby Anglo-American society 
in which I moved at Venice, that I was writing for money, — yes, 


118 LITERARY SOCIETY AS SHE WAS SEEN. 

actually writing for money ! The British nose had begun to go up. 
There was one nose in particular that went up uncommon high. It 
w^as that of an amateur female artist. Eetributive justice has, how- 
ever, now overtaken her. At last accounts, she was supporting her 
husband by painting portraits. The Glasgow Bank was a humble in- 
strument in the hands of Divine Providence to chasten the British 
Matron. It takes a good deal to chasten her, but she got it that time. 

The first money I received after reaching the land of my birth was 
the sum of fifty dollars from lAppincoWs Magazine^ for a paper on the 
fesia of San Antonio at Padua. With this did I i)ay my board-bill for 
a month ahead, in a co-operative household of elderly ladies, one of 
whom was a cousin of my own, to whose care I had been consigned. 

By judiciously appealing to the sympathies of this kind-hearted 
though painfully high-principled old lady, I succeeded in getting her to 
take dear mamma’s cameFs-hair off my hands for two hundred dollars. 
(She had two of her own, and she only bought it out of charity.) I 
used one hundred dollars to pay the rapidly accumulating board-bill in 
advance, and, with the reckless generosity of youth, sent back one 
hundred to my mother. You see, in common with other emigrants, I 
thought the streets of America were paved with gold, and that I would 
presently be earning at least five thousand a year by my pen. I have 
always boasted, in my capacity of a self-made woman, that my mother’s 
camel’s-hair shawl was to me what his mouse-trap was to that eminent 
financier, Mr. Bay Hould. 

My ancient chaperon-cousin and myself presently began to disagree 
in small matters. We were both endowed with the uncompromising 
New England disposition, and the very fastidious old lady sniffed at 
the British aristocracy because the female members of it went to church 
in colored petticoats, while I snubbed the missionaries and theological 
students who endeavored to make evening calls upon me at her insti- 
gation. I also refused to attend either the Presbyterian church or the 
Dutch Reformed, on the ground that I was not a Dissenter.” My 
mysterious foreign reserve and elaborate Italian manners nearly drove 
her wild, and I am sure she felt as though she were nursing a youthful 
tarantula. On my side, I regarded my venerable relative, in my cold- 
blooded, literary way, simply as a magnificent American type. Besides, 
I was too well fed ; my Bohemian- Venetian stomach couldn’t stand so 
many square meals. I felt that I was growing sluggish and lazy and 
required a course of starvation to keep me from becoming a fat Ameri- 
can bourgeoisCy taking an interest in church sociables and young people’s 
prayer-meetings. I informed this dear old lady upon various occasions 
that I was a Bohemian ! 

A Bohemian !” gasped my cousin, as she sat bolt upright on her 
chair, knitting one of those vile pseudo-Smyrna rugs which belong to 
the decalcomania-ginger-jar period of American artistic development. 

A Bohemian ! Dog’s nose ! What’s a Bohemian ?” 

“ A Bohemian,” I replied, promptly, from the sofa on which I was 
stretched at full length, complacently contemplating my first pair of 
really high heels, is a person who paints or writes, who never has any- 
thing to eat and not much to wear.” 


LITERARY SOCIETY AS SHE WAS SEEN. 


119 


“ Cat’s foot !” shrieked my aged relative. “ I don’t want any of 
that kind where I am ! Don’t you bring any of your Bohemians to 
this house, if you 'please 

No Irish need apply ! 

At that period of my existence I modelled my style of conversation 
and general views of life upon the works of one distinguished French- 
man, named Henri Murger, — of course within strictly moral, feminine 
limits. I lost no opportunity of flying the Bohemian banner. I con- 
sidered that I had a mission to rescue the entire American nation from 
the slough of Philistinism into which it had fallen. 

At last the supreme moment approached when I was to make my 
entrance into New York literary society. I felt that my life had cul- 
minated. Since early youth I had yearned to join that glorious band 
of almost disembodi^ spirits who kept the sacred fire of the American 
creative intellect forever burning by their reverent ministrations. 

At the mature age of ten I knew my Ralph Waldo Emerson by 
heart and had wept in secret over the sad fate of the divine Margaret 
Fuller Ossoli. For years I had carried my baked-bean transcendental- 
ism enshrined in my breast as ,a protection against the many temptations 
and frivolities of the court-circles of effete Europe ! Ralph, this is 
poetry ; Margaret, this is religion,” was to me but a faint foreshadowing 
of the mystic, significant, and pregnant utterances which were about to 
issue in my presence from the pale, ascetic, hallowed lips of the elect 
of letters. 

I made my first appearance in New York intellectual society at 
one of the best literary houses, introduced and chaperoned by the wife 
of a well-known author, at an afternoon reception given for herself and 
her husband. I had formed the acquaintance of these charming people 
in Europe. They were everything that was kind and delightful, but 
they were possessed of that delicious, Arcadian, New England, middle- 
aged innocence which produced Brook Farm, the Concord school of 
philosophy, and reformed underwear. 

With a mingling of awe and satisfaction did I array myself for this 
auspicious occasion in an Anglo-Yenetian costume, such as I would have 
gone to a tea-party in at the city of the lagunes. It consisted of a 
black cashmere and velvet skirt and a pale-blue cashmere coat, bordered 
with white fur, wide Valenciennes lace at throat and wrists, and dear 
mamma’s gold bracelets. I had imitated my coat from one worn by the 
fascinating author of Kismet,” for whom I had always cherished a 
sneaking admiration, such as a small dog feels for a large one, because 
she was so awfully emancipated and actually went out alone in a gon- 
dola with a young man ! She belonged to the civil war period of 
American girlhood, when chaperons were unknown. Thus she some- 
times required to be explained,” as it were. 

At this time I was somewhat conceited. It was not, however, 
personal conceit. It was simply that I was impressed with the dignity 
and glory of my calling as a writer for the magazines. I also looked 
upon all Americans, except such as wrote books or painted pictures, as 
scrubs,” Philistines,” and bourgeois” 1 scornfully alluded to the 
prosperous merchants of New York as ‘‘ millionaire shopkeepers.” 


120 


LITERARY SOCIETY AS SHE WAS SEEN. 


Thus panoplied in youth, verdancy, and self-confidence, behold me 
about to sally forth to confront the American Dowager ! 

I think, on the whole, that the American Dowager is a trifle worse 
than the British Matron. The B. M. is kept down by caste and the 
existence of an acknowledged standard of class-breeding. She’s afraid 
of the queen, too. The A. D., on the other hand, reminds one of an 
aggressive cow-buflalo hooking other cow-buffaloes, on the boundless 
plains of the untrammelled West. She is responsible to no one save 
her Maker, — who might have done himself a little more credit with his 
handiwork. 

I was one of the young ladies who were to “ receive,” you know. 
I may say that I not only received but I was received ! The reception 
had hardly begun, when my chaperon called me up and introduced 
me to a pompous, disagreeable sort of elderly man, as a young lady 
who was going in for a literary career. I offered to shake hands with 
him, after the manner of the Venetian tea-parties, where everybody 
shook hands with everybody else upon the slightest provocation. Jle 
stared superciliously at my offered hand, and looked me over from head 
to foot, but finally took it. 

It so happened that my mother and myself had run across this 
worthy gentleman and his niece one day in the course of our travels. 
I asked him if he remembered two ladies whom he had met at a cer- 
tain place in Germany. He replied grimly that he remembered two 
Persons. 

Dear me ! I had received my prophesied social accolade ! I had 
been called a Person ! My only comfort was that dear mamma had 
been included in the offensive nomenclature. This was what came of 
copying the style of dress affected by the British aristocracy ! 

Inex])erienced as I was in American social warfare, I had the sense 
to turn my youthful back upon this unpleasant old party and walk off 
to a seat. ' I had scarcely recovered from the shock of being called a 
Person when my chaperon beckoned to me. I responded with meek 
docility, after the European jeune jille manner, and, before I knew 
what was going on, I found myself at the top of the room and I was 
again being introduced as a young lady who was going in for a literary 
career, to a crowd of women who pressed around me. 

Such women ! Such hard-faced, vicious, malignant women ! And 
such eyes ! That battery of eyes still seems to beat full upon me ! I 
instinctively made the sign which in Italy wards off the evil eye,” 
for I was frightened almost to death. But I heroically smiled the 
polite smile of European breeding and offered to shake hands with 
every one. I dare say my smile was like a red rag to a cow ! I had 
not then learned that, in America, it is not swell to smile, and that an 
amiable manner is regarded as a mark of social inferiority. 

A couple of old women opened the ball by peering at me through 
their eye-glasses, almost touching my face with theirs. 

“ Middle-class !” ejaculated one, in a loud voice. (I a bourgeoise^ 
— just fancy !) 

The other nodded assent. Eow !” was her comment. 

Then the bombs began to fly ! 


LITERARY SOCIETY AS SHE WAS SEEN. 


121 


“ Common !” spat one old girl. 

Vulgar!’’ quoth a somewhat younger dame. 

“ Underbred !” remarked a third. 

Do you write for money ?” catechised a wanton-looking girl. 

^^Yes, of course I do,” I replied, proudly. That’s what I’ve 
come to America for. I’m going to earn my own living. And I’m a 
Bohemian I” 

“ A Bohemian !” A murmur of horror ran around the changing 
circle of femininity. 

Adventuress !” was the next complimentary name applied to me. 
It came from the saintly lips of old age. 

She’s going to earn her own living 1” said one sweet creature to 
another. “ Then she doesn’t belong here. She’s out of place. The 
Young Woman’s Christian Association is her sphere.” 

“ Beautiful lace she wears,” remarked one impertinent old thing, 
examining my wristlets as if I had been a milliner’s dummy. Prob- 
ably she doesn’t know the value of it. Wonder where she got it 1” 

“ Stole it !” snapped out her nearest neighbor, glaring at me. 

I flushed with indignation. At that moment a girl stepped up to 
me and deliberately ran her forefinger hard across my cheek from my 
eyes down to my jawbone, looking me full in the face with an impudent 
leer. I suppose she wanted to find out whether I was painted or not. 

Up to this time, I had kept my feelings under control. I had con- 
cealed my grief, horror, and amazement under a mask of smiles. But 
this last stroke was too much. I fairly quivered with physical disgust. 
Then I began to cry. The tears ran down my cheeks before I could 
fish out my pocket-handkerchief. 

A grand howl went up from my circle of tormentors. Insane ! 
She’s insane ! She ought to be shut up !” 

I was still more frightened than before. I began to dread bodily 
harm as well as verbal insult. I continued to sob and wipe my eyes, 
but I tried to force a smile, because I thought society” expected, it 
of me. A little cad who had the ^^cut” of a medical student was 
brought up to diagnose my case, and I heard the woman who fetched 
him ask if he did not consider me insane, to which question he 
nodded his head affirmatively. Several bold-looking females came up 
to gaze at the supposed luijatic with the eyes of she-devils, and asked 
me to call on them. One woman, in particular, informed me that she 
considered me insane, asked me if I wouldn’t like to go into a retreat 
at her expense, and said if I’d call on her the next day she’d make 
arrangements for me. 

By this time I had recovered my aplomb. So I thanked her po- 
litely with my sweet Venetian smile and courteous bow, as if she had 
asked me to dinner. She looked puzzled, as well she might, for I was 
now only laughing in my sleeve at this naive display of female 
jealousy. 

But had I been the precious little idiot that my desire to see the 
world and my neurotic temperament made me appear, and had called 
on these unscrupulous women as they requested me to do, I should 
probably have met with the fate of Marion in “ Aurora Leigh.” I 


122 


SYMPATHY. 


could see that they were just dying to get me in their clutches. And 
yet this, you know, was one of the best literary houses in New York. 

I must here remark that although I seemed and was awfully 
frightened, on the emotional side of my nature, the literary side of me 
was absorbed in studying the social conditions into which I had been 
flung, with an eye to gathering experience and serving it all up in 
print. I love to practise the doctrine of non-resistance, because it makes 
people expose their vices for my benefit as a literary person. When I 
found that those dreadful females were inclined to bully me, I afforded 
them every opportunity for so doing. You see, they thought I was a 
poor young foreigner whom they could insult with impunity. They 
made a slight mistake. They struck a native Yankee and an incipient 
social reformer. 

The crowd swept on and left me, evidently thinking the fun was 
over. While I stood there alone, looking dreamy and abstracted, a 
young woman whose face I shall never forget, for she had the eyes of 
a professional criminal, rose from her seat, smiling at me to throw me 
off my guard, approached me, and deliberately attempted to steal the 
lace off my right wrist. Happily, it was securely fastened in, and I 
was fully aware of the fact. Therefore I could afford to smile at her 
sweetly, which I did, and she returned to her seat with a baffled look. 
She probably realized that I was not such a fool as I appeared. 

And so this was literary society ! These were the beauteous Burne- 
Jones beings with whom I had dreamt of dwelling in sweet communion ! 
They were skinny enough to be the works of B. J., certainly, but they 
were on a somewhat lower moral plane. 

My illusions vanished forever. I went home and wept, — not so 
much over the personal abuse I had received as over the shattering of 
my cherished idols. I, the social ^^pet” of Venice, who had not been 
thought unworthy to meet ambassadresses, and who had been often 
taken out by Queen Marguerite’s own maid of honor, to be snubbed 
and insulted by a lot of miserable New York women because I was too 
proud to pretend to be anything but what I was, — a girl who meant 
to use her clever pen to get herself an honest living ! 

The late Kalph Waldo Emerson always said that a man of the 
world should call his occupation by its lowest name and thus disarm 
evil tongues. But the late R. W. E. was an unsophisticated old 
Yankee. A course of New York social sprouts would have done the 
philosopher of Concord lots of good. 

Thanks awfully, but I don’t visit at literary houses. 

Charlotte Adame. 


SYMPATHY. 

A THROBBING wail of song, 

A lorn bird mourned his mate : 
I wept and I listened long, — 
Something had shared my fate ! 


Ourtie Hall. 


THE CAPTURE AND EXECUTION OF JOHN BROWN 123 


THE CAPTURE AND EXECUTION OF JOHN BROWN. 

BY AN EYE-WITNESS. 

[The following letter was written by Parke Poindexter, then a lawyer in 
Philadelphia and a member of a military company at Harper’s Ferry, who after- 
wards rose to be a colonel in the Confederate army and was killed in battle. His 
sister, Mrs. Eliza C. Perkins, to whom the letter was addressed, still resides in 
Pulaski City, Virginia.] 

Richmond, Virginia, December 7, 1859. 

M y dear sister, — ^Y our kind letters were received, and I 
would have answered them before this time, but for my absence 
from the city. I have just returned from Charlestown, having reached 
this city last Sunday at three o^clock p . m ., after an absence of a little 
more than two weeks. 

I suppose you have heard of the insurrection at Harper’s Ferry. I 
was there with Company F of the First Regiment Virginia Vol- 
unteers. The night we started for the Ferry was the regular drill-night 
of the company, and some sixty or seventy of the men had assembled 
fully equipped for inspection, as it was the last drill-night before the 
19th October, the celebration of Yorktown. They had barely assem- 
bled, when an order from Governor Wise arrived that we should im- 
mediately repair to Harper’s Ferry, and in ten minutes after the order 
was received we were upon the cars of the Richmond and Fredericks- 
burg Railroad Company. It being dark, several of the men left the 
ranks as we marched from the drill-room to the d^pot, and when we 
reached the creek and the roll was called on the boat and the men 
mustered into service, only sixty-three responded to their names out 
of eighty-seven. Fourteen came on the next morning with the regi- 
ment, which proceeded no farther than Washington City. When we 
reached Washington City, we heard the most unfavorable news possible, 
— that the insurgents numbered some eight hundred or one thousand, 
that they had retaken the railroad bridge at Harper’s Ferry, and that 
they were then engaged in pulling up the railroad track at different 
points. We heard also that we would probably have to march some 
eight or ten miles on foot before reaching the Ferry. We were very 
much fatigued, having travelled all night, without sleep, and marched 
through the rain and mud in the night for two and a half miles, from 
the boat-landing at Washington to the d4p6t of the Baltimore and Ohio 
Railroad. We found ail the volunteers and regular soldiers at Wash- 
ington on duty patrolling the city, as well as the police-force of some 
one hundred men, expecting an attack upon the city of Washington. 

At Washington we were joined by another company of volunteers, 
from Alexandria. After getting some refreshments, we started in the 
train for the Relay House, where we arrived about seven o’clock a . m . 
I had no appetite, and did not try to eat. It was still raining, and 
cold. Ammunition was distributed among the men, and we started 
for the Ferry, upon the Covington and Ohio Railroad, as rapidly, as 
their swift engines could draw us. The people all along the road were 


124 the capture and execution of JOHN BROWN. 


in a great state of excitement. Men, women, and children cheered 
vociferously, waving their handkerchiefs, as the train bore on our 
splendid company at almost lightning speed. After travelling for 
two hours, we began to near the infected country, and the men prepared 
for an attack. About three hours after we had started, the train sud- 
denly stopped, and it was announced that the insurgents had pulled up 
the track and that we could progress no farther. The men sprang to 
their feet ready to leave the train. The alarm turned out to be in- 
correct, and in this state of excitement we dashed on, meeting at every 
cross-road excited and alarmed crowds of country-people, until we got 
within three or four miles of Harper’s Ferry, when we met a down- 
train, which informed us that the insurgents had been captured and the 
insurrection subdued. The engine-house, in which the insurgents took 
refuge, had been stormed about three hours before we reached the Ferry. 
The prisoners, old John Brown and his living confederates, had been 
secured and placed under a strong guard of the marines ; but the dead, 
dying, and wounded were still lying upon the streets and in the engine- 
house, where they had been shot down. 

The United States troops were drawn up within the government 
grounds, and the volunteers on the outside. The citizens, not being 
allowed to interfere with the soldiery, were assembled at a distance in 
large crowds. Our company, with Governor Wise at their head, were 
marched into the public grounds in front of the house, where the pris- 
oners were confined. After remaining there for about two hours, we 
were taken off to dinner, and did no more duty. I went around and 
saw all of the prisoners, and the dead and the dying, as they lay upon 
the streets and in the engine-house, where they had been killed and 
wounded. The most of them whom I saw had been killed. Those 
of the wounded whom the surgeons supposed to be mortally so were 
permitted to remain without sympathy or medical relief ; the rest were 
taken into the hospital, where their wounds were dressed. 

Late in the evening a wagon was driven around, and the dead in- 
surgents were pitched into it, whites and negroes together, and carried 
off to be buried. One of old Brown’s sons was shot dead, while carry- 
ing a flag of truce, at the same time that the prisoner Stephens was so 
badly wounded. The other was shot while in the engine-house, and 
died the night after the storming of the engine-house, having been shot 
as well as run through with the bayonet. He was a tall, handsome 
man, about twenty-two or twenty-three years old, and I could not help 
feeling sorry for him. He suffered such excruciating pain from his 
wounds that before he died he seemed to have grown to be an old man. 

I returned from Harper’s Ferry the 19th of October, and went im- 
mediately to Chesterfield Circuit Court. . . . 

As I stated in the beginning, I have just returned from Charles- 
town, Jefferson County, where I have been for upwards of two weeks with 
the regiment, aiding in guarding old John Brown and the other pris- 
oners confined there. I saw old Brown and the other prisoners several 
times. There was nothing particularly striking in the appearance of 
old Brown. He was a man sixty-odd years of age, naturally thin, and 
considerably shrunken by confinement and his wounds, with a long 


DIANA. 


125 


face, an equal mixture of gray and ^andy hair, and long beard. His 
face was indicative of calmness, self-possession, selfishness, and indiffer- 
ence both for the opinions and feelings of others. My company, F, 
was stationed very near the gallows upon the day of Brown’s execution, 
and I witnessed the whole proceeding. Brown mounted the scaffold as 
calmly and quietly as if he had been going to his dinner : he did not 
exhibit the slightest excitement or fear ; not a muscle moved, nor was 
there the slightest nervous excitement ; he stood erect and calm as if 
he were upon post. He struggled very little after the trap fell from 
under him. He hung upon the gallows thirty-seven minutes. There 
were upon the field of ^execution about two thousand troops, and the 
military display was the most beautiful I ever saw. 

Charlestown is one of the most beautiful little towns in Virginia, 
and is the county-seat of one of the most fertile and wealthy counties 
in the same. The people are refined, educated, and exceedingly hospita- 
ble. We had rations delivered to us every day, and excellent cooks 
from Richmond ; but the citizens would come at every meal-time and 
request that the soldiers in squads of five to fifteen would go with them 
to their private houses, which they generally did. We were feasted 
upon the fat of that productive land, fine beef, mutton, poultry, and the 
delicate parts of the hog. I was taken very sick while in Charlestown, 
with remittent fever, and became almost delirious. When I awoke 
from my delirium, I had been taken to a most luxurious chamber in a 
private house, and found the ladies thereof ministering unto me as 
ladies only know how to do. I remained under the care of the ladies 
and the surgeon for five days. The ladies stayed with me constantly, 
and gave me every palatable thing their kindness could suggest, and 
did everything calculated to relieve me. For their great kindness I 
can never forget them. 

Your affectionate brother, 

P. Poindexter. 


DIANA. 

I LOVE thee all the more that thou dost prove 
So all unmov^ by all proffered love ; 

For not thy fault but ours it is, when we 
Poor sons of Adam bend the suppliant knee. 

That thou hast ne’er an answer to our sigh. 

E’en in the virginal calmness of thine eye 
(As some great lake which in its quietest sleep 
Mirrors all heaven within its infinite deep) 

I read the sacred passion of great love. 

That might have been did men more worthy prove. 
And I do love thy high-souled purity. 

And I am well content that thou shouldst be 
Too pure, too proud, to stoop to such as we. 

WUson K. Welsh. 


126 


AT LAST. 


AT LAST: 

SIX DAYS IN THE LIFE OF AN EX-TEACHER. 

FOURTH DAY.— A COUNTERFEIT PRESENTMENT. 

T he ice of ray reserve having been entirely melted by the shower, 
there was nothing to prevent little Alice being made entirely at 
home at my boarding-house the next day, which also was rainy. She 
entered with a cheery Here we are again,’^ which I was inclined to 
criticise as ungrammatical until Mistress Drusilla told me it was a com- 
mon salutation of the child’s father when he reached home Saturday 
evenings. The uniform failure of my criticisms of anything which had 
emanated from my fahver ” had warned me to ignore that gentleman’s 
ways whenever they were brought to my notice by his daughter. 

Besides, little Alice’s voice was not the only one which broke the 
stillness of my temporary home. There arose to my room, as I pre- 
pared to descend, the wail of a cat. I knew my hostesses disliked cats ; 
as for me, I hated them. Many a night had I been roused from slum- 
ber by the cries of pussies in city yards, until I wondered how Noah’s 
family got any sleep at all while cruising about in the Ark. The cat 
whose voice mingled with that of little Alice seemed to be protesting 
against something, and its notes were high and piercing. 

“ You know, pet, we never liked cats,” I heard Mistress Drusilla 
say as I entered the old-fashioned sitting-room. 

Never, darling,” declared Miss Dorcas. 

The child looked hopefully towards me, but in return I gazed icily 
at a small feline head which rested on little Alice’s elbow, as I said, — 
I’d about as lieve have a snake in the house as a cat.” 

Well, I never !” said the child, looking curiously at me. Where 
did you ever get used to snakes so as to like ’em ?” 

Mistress Drusilla suddenly hurried to a corner window, saying, 
under her breath, that she believed there was a draught coming from 
that way somehow ; Miss Dorcas found a button loose on the back of 
the venerable hair-cloth sofa. But the child continued to stare at me, 
and soon exclaimed, — 

Say, — where did you ? Dere’s a picture on a fence down in de 
village, ’bout a big girl dat tamed snakes an’ is goin’ to play wiff some 
of ’em in de circus dat’s a-comin’ ; but she don’t look like you.” 

Miaouw!” exclaimed the cat. For the first time in my life I felt 
grateful to a member of the feline species. 

Poor kittie !” said the child. 

Miaouw !” repeated the animal. 

^'It’s such a poor little fing,” said Alice, sitting down and arranging 
the beast — a half-grown kitten — on her lap, handling it in sections, as 
if it were a thing of pasteboard and joints, such as I had owned when 
a child. It certainly was a poor little fing.” It had been thoroughly 
soaked by the rain, and, apparently, rolled in the mud afterwards. It 


AT LAST 


127 


seemed as thin as a lizard, as ugly as one of Dora’s imps, and as fright- 
ened as a child of the slums brought suddenly into decent surroundings. 
When it cried the two old women put their fingers to their ears. 
Finally, Mistress Drusilla, with her ears still closed, said, in a very 
loud voice, — 

Alice, pet, if you like you may take her to the kitchen and put 
her in the basket where we keep new-hatched chickens until they’re a 
few hours old. Then put the basket in front of the stove.” 

I don’t fink,” said the child, as she carefully smoothed the wretched 
animal’s ears, dat you’d like it, if you’d got all wet an’ knocked in de 
mud, to be put in a chicken-basket an’ set in front of de fire. You’d 
want somebody to pet you an’ comfort you, an’ tell you how sorry dey 
was, an’ somebody to listen to you while you told ’em all about how it 
happened. Folks dat’s in trouble likes to be coddled ; dey don’t like 
to be stuck off in a basket all alone to coddle ’emselves : do dey, kittie ?” 

Miaouw !” responded the waif. 

‘‘ You coddle the kitten, then, pet,” said Mistress Drusilla, cau- 
tiously removing her fingers from her ears, but let her tell you about 
her troubles some other time, when she won’t have to feel unpleasant at 
having so many other people around. You wouldn’t like a whole lot 
of folks listening if you were going to tell some of your troubles to a 
friend, would you ? Besides, you wouldn’t scream out everything you 
had to say, like that dreadful kitten.” 

‘‘ Don’t you fink so ? Well, mebbe not; but if you lived at our 
house an’ had to hear de folks dat come in to tell deir troubles to 
gran’ma, you’d see, — dat’s all.” 

The child began to look meditative. Miss Dorcas came slowly from 
the window, stood behind me, and whispered, — 

Now look out for a story. Her grandmother is a dear, sympa- 
thetic soul, and people cry all over her and tell her all sorts of things. 
It’s none of my business ; I don’t want to know anything about other 
folks’ affairs ( !) : goodness knows it takes me all my time to look after 
my own. Still, things do get out in the neighborhood once in a while 
that some folks wouldn’t have get out for anything, and, come to find 
out, that child has heard them when nobody supposed she was paying 
any attention to what was being said to her grandmother. Of course 
the child doesn’t know what it means to be a tale-bearer ; she repeats 
other people’s stories just as she does her father’s ; but they do make 
the greatest row in the neighborhood sometimes, because they’re always 
laid to somebody else.” 

Little Alice still remained in a brown study ; the kitten, cuddled in 
her lap, and pacified by gentle treatment and the warmth of the room, 
began purring softly. Miss Dorcas moved softly to the other side of 
the room, so as to attract the attention of her sister ; Mistress Drusilla 
caught her eye, and there was an exchange of expectant glances. The 
kitten yawned. The child, recalled from contemplation, caressed the 
animal, and roused herself 

Now,” said Miss Dorcas again, tiptoeing up to me and whispering,' 
she’s thought it out, and she’s been so long about it that I’m sure it’ll 
be specially interesting.” 


128 


AT LAST. 


Teacher/^ said the child, looking earnestly at me, do wish 
youM tell me how you learned to like snakes as much as kittens. I 
fink it^s de awfullest fing I ever heard tell of.” 

The two old women seemed to shrink as they sat in their chairs : 
although I did not look at them, I could not help seeing that Miss 
Dorcas acted exactly like a school-child caught at some flagrant offence 
against school discipline. Mistress Drusilla arose hastily, and said, — 
I’m sure that poor kitten needs something to eat, pet, after its 
dreadful wetting. I’ll go get you some milk for it.” 

I’ll do it. Mistress Drusilla,” said Miss Dorcas. Both old people 
left the room in haste, to my great relief, and they were not more than 
out of the door when Miss Dorcas shouted, — 

Bring her to the kitchen right away, darling.” 

^^Come along, teacher,” said Alice. 

No, no ; I mean the kitten, child,” came quickly back from the 

hall. 

Bless the old women for their sympathy ! I began to feel that they 
must have come from very good stock. As for little Alice, she started 
with the waif, but stopped in the door- way, and said, — 

I’ll tell you what I’ll do; I’ll let you keep Agonies in your room 
all de time you’s here if you’ll tell me how you learned to like nasty 
old snakes as much as ” 

A thin, withered hand came silently but swiftly from beside the 
door, clutched the child’s arm, snatched the questioner away, and, from 
sounds that followed, was apparently applied firmly to a small mouth. 

Believed of my tormentor, my first impulse was to go to my room 
and remain there. The sky was gloomy, so to look forward to a whole 
day of reading was not cheering ; but anything would be preferable to 
chance questioning, before witnesses, by an irresponsible being like Miss 
Alice Hope. Yet I had become so fond of the child that it seemed to 
me the day would be darker if I were deprived of her companionship. 
If I could get her to my own room and have her to myself, I could 
ignore unpleasant speeches and direct conversation to suit myself ; but 
from what I already had learned of other people’s affairs through ray 
landladies I could not doubt that as soon as I concluded my brief 
summer outing all that passed between us in conversation would become 
known to everybody who might care to listen. I had half a mind to 
take refuge in water-proof cloak, overshoes, and the outer air ; but as I 
stood at a window and debated the question with myself, the old women 
and child, without the cat, reappeared in the sitting-room, and little 
Alice remarked, solemnly, — 

I’m not goin’ to talk any more about snakes. Miss Dorcas an’ 
Mistress Drusilla says it ain’t polite to talk about what other folks 
don’t like ; an’, besides, dere’s reasons why dey wants you to like me 
ever so much : so you can go on an’ like me just as much as you 
wants to, dough I don’t see what de reasons is dat dey talks about.” 

Then the old women looked guilty again, and made excuses for 
disappearing: so I was soon left alone with little Alice. That young 
woman didn’t seem to realize that she had said anything unusual : she 
took a look at the weather, and for some moments did not seem to see 


AT LAST. 


129 


anything but threatening skies and dishevelled phloxes and petunias ; 
but suddenly she turned and said, with the air of a Pharisee of the 
Pharisees, — 

‘‘ Well, I’s been a good Srnatteran, anyway/' 

You've what?" 1 asked. 

“ I’s l)een a good Srnatteran, — don’t you know ? I fought ev’ry- 
body knew all about dat.’’ 

I’m not everybody, dear,’’ said I. “ I wish you would tell me 
what you mean by a ‘ good Srnatteran.’ ’’ 

“ Dear me ! I should fink you’d never been to Sunday-school in 
your life,’’ said the child, with a pitying look. “ Don’t you know de 
story about de man dat had all his fings hooked ?’’ 

I’ve heard of so many affairs of that kind,’’ said I, that I can’t 
be sure as to which you allude.’’ 

Why, I mean dat man dat went from Jerusalem, where King 
David used to live, to a town named Jericho. My fahver says dere 
wasn’t any p’licemen in dem days, an’ maybe he went after dark, when 
dere wasn’t any ’lectric lamps or uvver lights ’long de road to let ’em 
see what was in front of ’em. Anyhow, some bad old fiefs come along 
an’ knocked him down an’ stole his money an’ his clothes, an’ left him 
layin’ in de road about half dead ; dat’s worse dan bein’ all dead, my 
fahver says. 

“ Well, along come a preacher, an’ seen dat man a-layin’ dere, but 
he didn’t have noffin’ to do wiflP him. My fahver says he guesses de 
preacher fought de hooked man was a tramp, an’ preachers ain’t got no 
time to fink about tramps when dey knows lots of uvver preachers 
needs to be set right. Besides, who wants to look at a man dat’s been 
in a fight an’ got all mussed up in de dirt? Preachers fink dat p’lice- 
men and constables ought to take care of such folks. So de preacher 
went across de street, an’ walked along where dere wasn’t noffin’ to look 
at dat would upset de finks he was finkin’ about. 

“ By an’ by come along a Levite, — dat was de kind of man dat 
knowed all about de law. De law was made for sinners, my fahver 
says, but I guess de law-man finked de man layin’ in de dirt wasn’t a 
sinner, ’cause he went along on de uvver side of de street, too. An’ 
all dis time dat poor man dat had his fings hooked was lavin’ dere half 
dead, wivout any doctor to make him well, or any gran’ma to tell him 
to come home right away an’ put some clean clothes on ’fore somebody 
would come along and fink he didn’t have nobody to take care of him. 

Den dere come along a Srnatteran. Folks didn’t fink much of 
Smatterans in dcm days, ’cause dey come from a little town in de back- 
country where folks didn’t know much, an’ hadn’t read no books, nor 
made no laws, nor preached no sermons, nor read de newspapers, so dey 
was just as bad as de folks dat lives down on de beach here, dat ain’t 
no good except to work cheap for uvver people. Dat Srnatteran was 
ridin’ on a donkey : so I s’pose he must have been de donkey-man at a 
Sunday-school picnic. Well, he got off of his donkey, an’ he looked 
at de hooked man, an’ he put court-plaster on de places where he’d been 
cut, an’ he doctored him wiff wine an’ oil, — vaseline, I guess, — an’ den 
he put him on de donkey an’ took him along to a hotel, an’ gave de 

VoL. XLIII.— 9 


130 


AT LAST. 


hotel-man a penny, an’ told him to take care of de poor man till he 
come along dat way again. Like enough de penny de Smatteran gave 
de hotel-man was one de poor good man had been keepin’ to buy a 
stick of candy or a fig or somefin’ to carry home to his own little girl, 
’cause dat’s what fahvers do wiif deir last pennies : so it was all de 
harder for him to pay it to de hotel-man, ’cause he wouldn’t like his 
little girl to be disappointed when he got home.” 

The penny in the story you are telling,” said I, was a great deal 
more than what we call a penny nowadays. It was fully enough to 
pay for the care of a man at a country hotel for a day or two.” 

Is dat so ?” asked the child, with a very sober face. “ Den I 
wish you hadn’t told me about it: I’s always been sorry for dat 
Sraatteran’s little girl.” 

But what has all this to do with you, child, that you should think 
yourself like the good Samaritan ?” 

‘^Well, I declare! You don’t know? Dear me! yon’s about as 
slow to understand anyfin’ as folks was when Jesus used to tell stories. 
Why, de way is, dere was a poor little kittie along de road dat had got 
all rained on an’ muddy, an’ I brought it in, an’ nobody wanted to be 
nice to it a bit. Mistress Drusilla an’ Miss Dorcas put deir fingers in 
deir ears when it cried, an’ you said you’d as lieve have a snake as a 
cat. Say, — I wish I knew — oh, no ! I forgot ; I mustn’t say anyfin’ 
about dat again. But I took care of de poor little fing, an’ comforted 
it all I could, when ev’rybody else was lettin’ it alone all dey could. 
Den I gave it a whole cupful of milk.” 

But ’twas milk that Mistress Drusilla supplied*” said I, wishing 
to have justice done to the priest and the Levite. 

But if de kittie hadn’t drinked it I could have drinked it my- 
self,” said the child, with a sigh. It’s just like de Smatteran’s 
penny : dat’s what makes me like de Smatteran. I wish, dough, dat 
I could have felt like you, ’cause I’d have been alk de gooder if I’d 
liked snakes as much as — oh, pshaw ! dere I goes again, after I promised 
I wouldn’t ! I do wish I didn’t always have to be wonderin’ about 
fings !” 

“ Come up to my room, dear, and see if we can’t find something 
else to think about. If I can do anything to take your wondering out 
of you. I’ll take pains to do it.” 

Oh, will you ?” said the child, with a look of ecstatic longing. 

Den tell me when you saw de snakes dat ” 

I hastily picked up the child, carried her to my room, placed her 
on my bed, kissed her several times, and finally said, — 

“ Now let us have a good time. I wish you had all your dolls here ; 
but, as you haven’t. I’ll do anything else that will make you happy.” 

‘^Will you, really?” she asked. ^^Den s’pose you cut me some 
paper dolls.” 

Paper dolls ?” 

^^Yes, — don’t you know? You cut dolls out of paper an’ make 
believe dey’s people.” 

I don’t believe I’ve ever done that,” said I, after rapidly reviewing 
the amusements of my own juvenile days. 


AT LAST. 


131 


Haven’t you ? Well, my faliver says it’s never too late to learn. 
If you’ll get some paper and scissors, I’ll show you de rest.” 

I quickly found the material and tools, and the child laboriously 
carved from a sheet of paper a figure which in outline resembled some of 
the dreadful idols I had seen exhibited in church missionary-meetings. 

Here,” she exclaimed, as she held the hideous thing up in full 
view, dat’s a boy doll, if you fink so hard enough.” 

I wondered if any amount of thought which I could exert would 
make the scrap of paper seem anything but grotesque. Suddenly, 
however, I remembered that I had brought a box of water-colors with 
me. I shall never forget the exclamation of delight which escaped the 
child as I floated some carmine wash into the top of the boy doll.” 

“ Oh-h-h !” Alice murmured, as she looked at the bedaubed bit of 
paper; ^^he’s almost like real folks, ain’t he? Now let’s make some 
girl dolls ; den you can paint all you want to wivout doin’ too much.” 

The girl that was evolved from the paper appeared so quickly that 
some essentials were noticeable principally by their absence. But little 
Alice did not miss them ; she was awaiting the touch of the paint-brush ; 
and as I endeavored to bestow a dull-red skirt, a light-green waist, and 
a citrine sash, the child’s breath came quick and fast, and she finally 
exclaimed, — 

How lovely ! Don’t de little girls in your school like you to 
paint deir paper dolls ?” 

They don’t have paper dolls, dear : I don’t suppose one of them 
ever thought of a paper doll.” 

Wha-a-a-a-a-at ? Why, de poor little fings ! Don’t dey ever 
fink about dolls at all ?” 

“ I don’t know, dear. How should I know what they think about, 
or what they like?” 

Well,” she replied, dropping the scissors and paper, if you don’t 
know, I’d like to know who does ? Doesn’t you ever make ’em paper 
dolls, or paint ’em for ’em ?” 

The idea ! If any school-teacher were to do such things for her 
pupils the Board of Education would think she was good for nothing.” 

Den who does make your school-children paper dolls ? ’Cause I 
’member you said most of ’em didn’t have fahvers or muvvers dat could 
do nice fings for ’em.” 

Nobody, I suppose,” said I, carelessly. 

You don’t mean dat dey don’t have any paper dolls at all, do 
you ?” asked the child, with wondering eyes. 

‘‘ That is just what I do mean,” I replied ; and you will learn one 
of these days, my dear, that the children you are talking about don’t 
know the difierence, and don’t miss paper dolls at all. Probably they 
never saw paper dolls : so how can they think about them and want 
them ?” 

H’m,” said the child, pressing a partly-painted doll to her heart 
and leaving on the front of her white pinafore a red blotch which 
might be taken for a pink jockey-cap or a half-ripened strawberry. I 
wonder where you was brought up, to fink dat way. Don’t you ever 
fink about fings you never saw, an’ want to have ’em ?” 


132 


AT LAST 


The child’s question set me to thinking, and I am not sure that I 
made any reply. 1 went on coloring dolls, working very slowly, and 
indulging in all sorts of vagaries of color, contrast, and combination. 
The longer I thought, the more point there seemed to the child’s ques- 
tion. Certainly I had never wasted much time in wishing for pleasures 
that money could buy ; I had been trained to believe that “ a man’s life 
(or a woman’s) consisteth not in the abundance of the things that he 
(or she) possesseth.” It was a matter of family pride that none of my 
ancestors, on either side, had ever taken part in the mad race for wealth 
and luxury. For what had I most longed ? I could honestly answer, 
a contented mind and a useful life, with the love of those about me. 
If Frank Wayne had only 

“ Say, — don’t you ?” exclaimed the child. The question recalled 
me from my revery. I did not want to make a father confessor of a 
child, but I could not help snatching the little torment into my arms 
and kissing her repeatedly. 

I fought you did,” she replied, as she straightened a paper doll 
which between us had been crushed out of all semblance of shape. 

Well, I should fink you might know dat de dreadful poor little chil- 
dren in your school felt de same way, an’ felt it awful much, if dey’s 
got such almost noffin’ as you say dey has.” 

Evidently this child knew nothing of class distinctions and the 
grovelling tastes of the children of the slums. Probably her father 
was one of the ranting, enthusiastic fellows who imagine every one to 
be of like feelings and aspirations with themselves. I remembered 
Frank Wayne once speaking of a school-room — just such a one as I 
afterwards controlled — that he had accidentally visited, and how he 
believed its walls should be covered with pictures and its windows filled 
with flowers. I remembered, too, that when I told him the pupils 
would quickly disfigure the pictures and destroy the flowers so as to 
throw them at one another, he retorted that he had seen more flowers 
blooming in the windows of one block of tenement-houses than in all 
the windows on Fifth Avenue. This reply made me indignant. It 
never is pleasant to have one’s cherished theories upset by a lot of 
facts ; in such cases one doesn’t know what to say. 

“ I guess,” said Alice Hope, with earnest accent upon the last word, 
I guess dis paper doll ain’t good for much ’xcept to start a hospital 
wifiP. Don’t matter, dough ; guess we couldn’t be happy if we didn’t 
have nobody to be sorry for. I don’t want to spoil any more ; but 
say, — if we do, den dis one will have somebody to keep it company.” 

For a few moments the work of shaping and decorating semblances 
of humanity continued ; I was busy with my thoughts, and the child, 
I supposed, was giving her entire mind to scissors and paper. When, 
however, as I finished a doll and a day-dream at the same time and 
then impatiently threw the doll upon the floor, the child stooped and 
picked up the discarded scrap of paper, giving me a childish warning 
at the same time against wastefulness. Suddenly, however, she looked 
at the recovered doll intently, burst out laughing, and pressed it to her 
lips. 

You silly child 1” said I, smiling at her. 


AT LAST 


133 


I ain’t silly/’ she replied, holding the bit of paper at arm’s length, 
and contemplating it with a face full of smiles, but I never saw any- 
fin’ so funny in all my life ! Does you know what ? You’s gone an’ 
made dat doll look just like my fahver !” Then she kissed the daub 
again and again. * 

I rose hastily and took the scrap of paper from her hand ; as I did 
so it seemed to me that my face was ablaze. I knew that I had 
sketched on it, in neutral tints, my recollection of Frank Wayne : that 
was the reason I had thrown it away. The Hopes and the Waynes 
were not related, or I should have known it during my acquaintance 
with Frank ; but there is a facial resemblance, I suppose, among men 
who think alike, and by what the child had for several days been say- 
ing about her father I had frequently been reminded of my recreant 
lover’s mental peculiarities. 

I didn’t know dat you knew my fahver,” said the child, standing 
very close to me as I looked again at the picture I had thrown away. 

I don’t know him. I never saw him in my life,” said I. 

Den of course you doesn’t,” said she, looking depressed ; “ but 
when I shows him dat paper doll, he’ll fink it’s awful funny dat some- 
body else can be just like him.” 

“ Will he?” thought I. ‘^Not unless my right hand has lost its 
cunning.” Then I said to the child, The picture isn’t done, dear, and 
I threw it away rather than waste time on it ; but I suppose I may as 
well finish it.” Seizing my brush, I quickly made the head bald, cov- 
ered the eyes with large spectacles, and slightly lengthened the ears. 

You’s spoiled my fahver !” exclaimed the child. 

’Twasn’t meant for your father, dear,” said I, kindly : having de- 
stroyed the supposed resemblance, I could afford to be consolatory to any 
extent. Don’t you see ? The man I meant to draw was a man who 
is so smart that he knows everything, or ” 

Den why didn’t you leave it like it was ? — ’cause dat’s just de kind 
of man my fahver is. Can’t you make him back again like he was ?” 

“ Perhaps so, when it becomes entirely dry,” said I, with a mental 
reservation that by that time it should be reduced to indistinguishable 
fragments. That it should not again fall into the youngster’s hands, I 
placed it between the leaves of a sketch-book which I was using on a 
table. After this the work of making paper dolls continued with in- 
dustry and interest ; to divert the child’s thoughts from the unfortunate 
picture which resembled her father, I devoted myself to brilliant and 
tasteful coloring, and, remembering that I once had taken lessons in 
figure-drawing, I outlined men, women, and children with my pencil, 
and the little fingers guided the scissors over the lines with more or less 
success until the dinner-bell rang. 

Come on,” shouted Miss Alice Hope, as the cheering jingle reached 
our ears. I’s ’most starved.” She slid down the stair-rail, thus gain- 
ing some steps on me, and as I approached the dining-room door 1 heard 
her exclaim, — 

Say, Mistress Drusilla an’ Miss Dorcas, what do you fink ? Why, 
teacher made a paper doll look just exactly like my fahver I Did you 
ever hear of such a funny fing as dat ?” 


134 


AT LAST. 


The old women were exchanging odd smiles as I entered the room, 
but the exchanges were broken abruptly as I appeared. 

Say, — did you ?” the child repeated. 

There’s nothing very strange about it, pet, I’m sure,” said Mis- 
tress Drusilla. 

“ Nothing at all, darling,” said Miss Dorcas. 

There are so many men in the world who look alike,” said Mis- 
tress Drusilla, ‘Hhat I sometimes wonder how people can tell men apart. 
’Twasn’t so in my day.” 

No, indeed,” said Miss Dorcas. In our time, when we were 
young, each man had his own style of face and clothes ; but now it 
does seem as if all the men that go to the city have their clothes cut 
from the same goods and according to the same pattern, and they all 
wear moustaches turned up at the ends in just the same way. Why, 
goodness me, last time I was down to the railroad d^pot in the village, 
and a lot of the young fellows that were summer boarders got oif the 
train, it made me think of ^ar times, when nearly everybody was in 
uniforms just exactly alike. For the life of me, I couldn’t see how 
gals could tell whether they kissed their own sweethearts or somebody 
else’s.” 

‘^You could,” said Mistress Drusilla, with a far-away look, ^Mf 
you’d ever ” 

^^To be sure, — of course,” said Miss Dorcas, hastily rising and 
helping her sister to potatoes so that she might have an excuse to give 
the old woman a sly squeeze. 

^^Well,” said Alice Hope, who during these explanations had been 
stowing away bread and gravy as industriously as if she had no mind 
for anything else, I never saw anybody else dat looked like my fahver ; 
an’ if dere is a lot of uvver men dat looks dat way I fink dis world is 
a good deal nicer place dan I ever heard it was before.” 

How is the kitten, little Samaritan ?” I asked, in order to change 
the subject. I’m afraid you’ve left her entirely to the hotel-keeper, 
without even paying a penny for her board.” 

A spoonful of bread and gravy stopped half-way between plate and 
mouth, but it soon resumed its journey as the child said, — 

I’ll give Mistress Drusilla an’ Miss Dorcas lots of kisses after 
dinner ; dey often give me pennies for kisses, so it’ll be all right.” 

To be sure it will, pet.” 

Certainly, darling.” 

“ Dat’s all fixed, den,” said the child, redoubling for a little while 
her attentions to her plate ; then she said, between mouthfuls, “ When 
you see dat picture you’ll fink it’s like my fahver, too.” 

Oh,” exclaimed Mistress Drusilla, I’ll be real glad. I always 
did say that the picture your grandmother has doesn’t do your father 
justice. There’s so much in his face that men don’t seem to see : it 
takes a woman’s eye to understand all that’s good in a man of that 
kind.” 

Little girls’ eyes can do it pretty well, I fink,” remarked Alice 
Hope, as she passed her plate for more dinner. 

“ So they can, pet,” said Mistress Drusilla. 


AT LAST. 


136 


“ Indeed yes/’ assented Miss Dorcas. You’ll show us the picture 
right after dinner, won’t you ?” 

“ The silly child,” said I, “ found a fancied resemblance to her 
father in a wretched daub of a paper doll, which I afterwards changed 
to make it look as I wanted it.” 

Yes, but you’s goin’ to make it back again de way it was, don’t 
you ’member, wdien it gets dry ?” 

If I can, dear,” said I, controlling by a violent effort my impulse 
to speak in my severest class-room tone and refuse entirely to touch that 
detested daub again. Then I mentally informed myself that if I were 
not wise enough to make away with that scrap of paper before it could 
make more trouble I was not worthy of my old self. 

The meal proceeded without further disturbing remarks ; and as 
after dinner little Alice was invited to the kitchen to feed the kitten 
while the hostesses cleared the table, I had time to go to my room, lock 
the door, and apply a match to the picture which resembled two differ- 
ent men. I even softly crumbled the charred remains into a tiny heap 
of ashes, and, provokingly enough, dropped a tear upon them. I am 
sure I did not mean to cry over a lost love, — the memory of a man 
who had for years been another woman’s husband, — yet somehow it 
happened. Tears are most unreasoning things : they persist in follow- 
ing one another even when they can’t help knowing they are not wanted, , 
and the more unconscious one tries to be of their presence the more they 
persist in reddening the eyes. Fortunately, a child as young as Alice 
would not notice that I had been crying : so I hastened to wipe my eyes 
and cool them with a damp handkerchief, and as soon as I heard little 
footsteps on the floor below I hastened to hum a tune and to begin a 
water-color sketch of the scene from the window in front of me. It 
was not difficult work at the start, for a single tone of green answered for 
the mass of old spruces which shut out everything else but blue sky. As 
the child bounced into the room and saw what I was doing, she uttered 
a long-drawn Oh-h !” and stood motionless, though she broke the 
silence every two or three moments by softly murmuring, Dear me !” 

Gracious !” Well, I never !” or some similar expression of wonder. 
When finally I stopped a moment to contemplate the sketch, she said, — 

Dat’s just too lovely for anyfin’. I fink you might let me bring 
up Mistress Drusilla and Miss Dorcas to look at it. Dey don’t have 
lots to make ’em happy, you know : dey don’t have noffin’ but me.” 

They shall see it, dear, when it is done. You shall give it to 
them.” 

Oh, you dear, good old fing !” the child exclaimed, throwing her 
arms around me. But don’t you fink ’twould make ’em happier to 
see it growin’ ? It’s so perfectly wonderful to see a lot of out-doors 
grow on a piece of paper dat way.” 

Very well, dear : you may ask them to come up if you like.” 

Goody, goody, goody !” Away went little Alice, and several 
minutes afterwards the two old sisters came in as softly as if they feared 
they might break the picture if they made a noise. They were as 
much pleased as any artist could have hoped : so what I had begun in 
desperation I began to finish with extreme care. A ring at the door 


136 


AT LAST. 


called them away suddenly, and no sooner had they departed than the 
child said, timidly, — 

Don’t it need to get dry before you finish it ?” 

Yes, dear.” 

^‘Den let it rest a little while, can’t you, an’ make my fahver’s 
picture back right again.” 

“ I’m very sorry, dear” (I really was sorry for her sake), but — I 
began doing something to it as soon as I came up, and somehow I 
spoiled it entirely.” 

So it can’t be fixed, nohow ?” 

Nohow, dear.” 

“ Dat’s too bad,” she said, gravely, as she seated herself on the bed. 
I was greatly relieved at finding her take the announcement so calmly, 
and told myself, as I went on with my sketch, that I might have ex- 
pected as much ; cliildren’s thoughts are short-lived. Soon, however, a 
strange sound from the bed made me turn quickly and behold little 
Alice crying as if her heart would break. Seeing that I noticed her, 
she sobbed, — 

“ I ain’t seen my fahver in — four whole days, an’ — dat picture was 
’most as good as seein’ him again, an’ — I’s been finkin’ about it ever 
since you said you could make it over again, an’ — an’ I can’t ! Oh, 
dear, dear !” 

You poor, dear child,” said I, hastening to comfort her ; it is 
too bad ; but just think how you’ll see your father himself pretty soon, 
instead of an old piece of paper.” 

I know it ; but I did — oh, I did want to see dat picture again, — 
so much !” Then came a fresh flood of tears. 

Alice, dear,” I whispered, in . desperation, fearing my landladies 
might return, if I try to make a picture just like it again, will you 
promise not to talk about it, — to anybody? I don’t like to have my 
pictures talked about, — by any one.” 

I’ll promise,” she exclaimed, springing up. I’ll promise, certain 
sure.” 

I reseated myself quickly, and began to draw. It was not difficult 
to outline the face I remembered so well, yet I did it with a feeling of 
savage desperation, wishing heartily that there was no such thing as 
resemblance in the world. As I dropped my pencil to take a softer one 
for shading, a little hand stole in front of me, took the paper, and 
kissed it repeatedly. I attempted to take it back, saying, — 

“ It isn’t finished yet, dear.” 

“ It’s finished enough for me,” the child replied, still retaining the 
picture. “ Dear old fahver ! Don’t you fink he’s lovely?” 

“ I think he — the picture — is fine-looking,” I admitted. 

Den why don’t you kiss it?” she asked. I don’t see how you 
can help it?” 

Then, suiting the action to the thought, she held the picture in front 
of me, while with one chubby hand she pressed it to my lips. 

John Habberton. 


OUR ONE HUNDRED QUESTIONS. 


137 


OUE ONE HUNDRED QUESTIONS. 

VI. 

36 . Whence the expression take the cake^^ f 

A common feature of the dances, or “ balls,” given by our colored brethren 
is the cake-walk. This is a sort of march, generally at the beginning of the 
entertainment, at the end of which the couple whose carriage and appearance 
are adjudged by the umpire to be best — who are, if one may say it, the best 
steppers — receive as a prize a large cake, and they are said by the others to “ take 
the cake.” There can be little doubt, I think, that this is the origin of our 
slang phrase. And yet that a respectable antiquity might be claimed for the 
expression is shown by the following stanza from “ A Pleasant Grove of New 
Fancies,” 1657 : 

At stool-ball, Lucia, let us play 
For sugar, cakes, and wine, 

Or for a tansy let us pay, 

The loss be mine or thine. 

From “Gerard’s Herball,” 1633, we learn that “In the spring-time are 
made with the leaves hereof newly sprung up, and with egs, cakes, or tansies, 
which be pleasant in taste, and good for the stomacke ;” and another old writer, 
speaking of the tenets of the Puritans, says, “ All games where there is any 
hazard of loss are strictly forbidden ; not so much as a game of stool-ball for a 
tansay.” And Brand quotes Aubanus as saying that at the Easter season there 
were foot-courses in the meadows in which the victors carried off each a cake, 
given to be run for by some better sort of person in the neighborhood. — Owego. 

This expression comes from a ceremony, very popular among the negroes of 
this country, called a “ cake-walkp in which a prize consisting of an elaborately 
frosted cake is presented to the successful competitors. A few years ago I had 
the pleasure of witnessing one of these performances, and found it diverting in 
the extreme. A large space having been cleared on the lawn, a circular track 
was marked out, which was to be traversed by the walkers. In the centre of 
this circle, on a raised stand which was profusely decorated with greens and 
festoons of colored tissue-paper, reposed the cake : it resembled a cart-wheel in 
its dimensions, and was the joint production of several of the participants. The 
walking was done in couples, and each damsel drew her companion (of the 
opposite sex) by lot. The cake was to be bestowed upon the pair of pedestrians 
who, because of their graceful carriage and pleasing attire, should be deemed the 
most worthy of the reward. Each maid hung coquettishly upon the arm of her 
fate-elected swain, endeavoring to tread with dignity and grace; not forgetting, 
meanwhile, to display the splendors of her raiment. As three unhappy umpires 
took their positions, about a dozen couples started on their excursion around the 
cake, accompanied by the music of two fiddles and the sound of their own 
voices lifted in the strains of a familiar negro melody. Round and round they 
went, until they and their judges were weary ; then, at a given signal, the pro- 
cession halted, and the umpires, removing the cake from its eminence, presented 
it, with a few remarks, to the successful candidates, who were then publicly 
acknowledged, by reason of their superior grace and taste, to have won or taken 
the cake . — Davus. 

37 . W hat is the London Stone f 

London Stone is, at present, “a cubic foot of oolite” which is built into a 
niche in the outside of the wall of the Church of St. Swithin and St. Mary 
Bothaw, in Cannon Street, London. During most of the year a fruiterer’s booth 
stands in front of it, and the grating which protects it is hung with bunches of 


138 


OUR ONE HUNDRED QUESTIONS. 


twine, while the stone itself is made the receptacle for a pile of paper bags. The 
stone is of interest because of its place in history and for the mass of tradition 
which gathers round it. The pillar, of which there now remains only this frag- 
ment, formerly stood in Cannon Street, on what was, before the fire, the highest 
ground within the walls of London. Stowe describes it as “pitched upright, 
a great stone fixed in the ground very deep, fastened with bars of iron, and so 
strongly set that if carts do run against it through negligence, the wheels be 
broken and the stone itself be unshaken.” 

Down to the middle of the eighteenth century it stood on the south side of 
the street (according to some, this would have been the middle of the Roman 
“ Watling Street”), when it was removed to the north side, near the curb. After 
fifty years of wear and tear in this spot, it was condemned as “ a nuisance and 
obstruction,” and it was then set against the wall of the church above-mentioned, 
its top encased in another stone. It is said that it was saved from destruction at 
this time only by the exertions of a printer of Sherburne, named Th. Maiden. 
But it was still thought to be an obstruction, and the remaining fragment was 
finally built into its present position, — an ignominious end for a monument once 
held in great veneration. 

As to where the stone came from, or fqr what purpose it was set up, history 
is silent. The earliest mention of it is, perhaps, in the Saxon charters. The 
manuscript gospel book given to Christ’s Church, Canterbury, by Athelstan, re- 
fers to it as a well-known landmark. The chroniclers say of the great fire of 
Stephen’s time that it broke out near London Stone ; and Fitz-Alwyne, the first 
mayor of London, was called “ the Draper of London Stone.” 

As to the purpose for which the stone was set, there has been much specula- 
tion. Brewer, following some of the old authorities, confidently aflirms that it 
was a Roman milliary, and that from it all the roads of the province were 
measured ; but, even if this be true, there is evidence that the Romans thus made 
use of a monument that they found already standing. King, in his “Muni- 
menta Antiqua,” says that it “ was plainly deemed a record of the highest an- 
tiquity,” and that it evidently “had some more ancient and peculiar designation 
than that of having been a Roman milliary, even if it ever were used for that 
purpose afterwards.” When Sir Christopher Wren changed the grade of the 
streets, after the great fire, he found the foundations so extensive that he was 
convinced that it must have once been enclosed in, or a part of, some large build- 
ing. There is a tradition that the British kings took their oaths here on their 
accession; and the truth of it is borne out by the fact that Jack Cade is said to 
have advanced to it and, striking his sword upon it, said, “ Noav is Mortimer 
Lord of the city.” The following extracts from “Pasquill and Marforius” 
(London, 1589) point to the same thing : “ Set up this bill at London Stone. Let 
it be doone sollemnly with drum and trumpet, and looke you advance my 
cullours 6n the top of the steeple right over against it.” “ If it please them 
these dark winter nights to sticke uppe their papers uppon London Stone.” 

One tradition says that it was brought from the walls of Troy by Brutus, the 
grandson of ^neas and founder of the British nation, and laid on the altar of 
the temple of Diana which stood at this spot. 

That the stone was anciently considered the palladium of London is shown 
by the following old saying : 

“ So long as the stone of Brutus is safe, so long shall London flourish.” — 
OWEGO. 

38. Whence the expression where the shoe pinches^^ f 

In Plutarch’s Life of Paulus .-Emilius is the following (Langhorne’s trans- 
lation, 1822) : “ His flrst wife was Papiria, the daughter of Papirius Maso, a man 
of consular dignity. After he had lived with her a long time in wedlock, he 
divorced her, though she had brought him very fine children ; for she was mother 
to the illustrious Scipio, and to Fabius Maximus. The reason of this separation 
history does not record; but with respect to divorces in general, the account 
which a certain Roman, who put away his wife, gave of his own case seems to 
have been a just one. When his friends remonstrated and asked him, ‘ Was she 
not fair? "VV^as she not chaste? Was she not fruitful ?’ he held out his shoe, 


OUR ONE HUNDRED QUESTIONS. 139 

and said, ‘Is it not handsome? Is it not new?’ Yet none knows where it 
pinches, but he that wears it.’ ” 

Langhorne adds in a note, “M. Kicard, with some others, thinks it not 
improbable that the author of this observation was Paulus .^milius himself.” 

The Spanish proverb is, — 

“ Cada uno sabe adonde lo aprieta el zapato.” “ The wearer best knows 
where the shoe wrings him.” — Bohn’s “ Handbook of Proverbs,” 1855, reprinted 
from Ray’s “ Collection,” 1670. 

Chaucer says (“Canterbury Tales,” 6074), — 

“ For, God it wot, he sat ful still and song. 

When that his scho ful bitterly him wrong." 

# 

“ I wot weel where my ain shoe binds me.” — Scotch. 

Erskine used to say that when the hour came for all secrets to be revealed, 
we should know why shoes are always too tight.— One of A Thousand. 

39. Who is said to have been the original of Thacherafs Blanche 
Amory f 

Olive OldschooPs answer contains about all that is known authori- 
tatively on this subject. But the extracts from Miss Thackeray’s letter, 
quoted in connection with the answer to our first question, should also 
be referred to. 

A Miss Blanche Stanley [says Olive Oldschool] is supposed to have been the 
original of this character. 

She is alluded to in one of Thackeray’s letters to Mrs. Brookfield as “ Poor 

little B 1 does anybody suppose I should be such an idiot as to write verses 

to her? I never wrote her a line; I once drew a picture in her music-book, 
a caricature of a spooney song, in which I laughed at her, as has been my prac- 
tice, alas I” 

Mrs. Carlyle also alludes to this “ poor little B ,” in a letter addressed 

to her uncle written later, thus, — 

“Have you been reading Thackeray’s Pendennis? If so, you have made 
acquaintance with Blanche Amory; and when I tell you that my young lady of 
last week is the original of that portrait, you will give me joy that she, lady’s 

maid, and infinite baggage are all gone. Not that the poor little is quite 

such a little devil as Thackeray, who has detested her from a child, has here 
represented ; but the looks, the manners, the wiles, the larmes, and all that sort 
of thing, are a perfect likeness.” 

In another letter written by Thackeray, he says, — 

“At the train whom do you think I found? Miss G , who says she is 

Blanche Amory, and I think she is Blanche Amory, — amiable at times, amusing, 
clever, and depraved. We talked and persiflated all the way to London, and the 
idea of her will help me to a good chapter, in which I will make Pendennis and 
Blanche play at being in love ; such a wicked, false, humbugging London love 
as two blast London people might act, and half deceive themselves that they 
were in earnest.” 

This “ Miss G ” was another person altogether, but in some ways, evi- 

dently, so like “ poor little Blanche” that she discovered the resemblance herself. 

Most persons agree in saying that Thackeray usually had more than one 

original for a character, and in this instance he has given Miss G one chapter 

as Blanche Amory. But “poor little Blanche” Stanley is undoubtedly the 
original of the character. — Olive Oldschool. 

40 . What is a Bezant, and what ceremony is associated with it f 

Bezants were gold coins struck at Byzantium by Constantine. They, or the 
gold circles representing them, were introduced into Europe by the Crusaders, 
and were current there from the ninth century, and in England until super- 
seded by the gold noble of Edward III. They varied in value from about 


140 


OUR ONE HUNDRED QUESTIONS. 


fifteen pounds at first, to the worth of an English sovereign or half-sovereign or 
even less. There were also silver bezants. The offering of gold made by the 
English king at the altar when he received the sacrament or at festivals — some- 
times a wedge valued at thirty pounds — was also called a “ bezant” so late as 
1762. 

But the Bezant of the question, no doubt, concerns the ceremony growing 
out of the method by which, from time immemorial down to so late a period as 
1830, the town of Shaftesbury, in Dorset, England, was compelled to supply 
itself with water. 

This town stands on a high hill, and until a comparatively recent period all 
the water was brought on horseback from Motcombe Manor, at Enmore Green, 
a hamlet in the valley. The “ bezant” was the tribute or acknowledgment paid 
for this privilege to the lord of the mano^ and the custom reached back far 
beyond any record of it. The first written authority occurs in 1527, when some 
detail of its observance is given. The ceremony of its presentation formerly 
took place in May, on Holy-Cross Day, but in 1662 the time was altered to the 
Monday in Rogation Week. At one o’clock the villagers assembled on Enmore 
Green and amused themselves with sports and dancing until two o’clock, the 
hour for the presentation. Meanwhile, the mayor of Shaftesbury had prepared 
the “ bezant,” which was a kind of trophy, somewhat resembling a palm-tree in 
shape, surmounted by a gold crown, and by the arms of the town and corporation, 
— the first a lion rampant, pawing a tree with a dove in its top, and the last 
a cross between two fleurs-de-lis and two leopards’ faces. This trophy was 
gay with ribbons and peacocks’ feathers, and to it were fastened rings, medals, 
plate, jewels, coins, etc., often of great value, that were loaned for the occasion 
by the gentry of the neighborhood. There was also provided a penny loaf, a 
gallon of ale, a pair of gloves, and a calf s head, uncooked. 

The mayor and aldermen of Shaftesbury formed in procession, attended by 
music and mace-bearers, and accompanied by a man and woman fantastically 
dressed, chosen to represent a lord and lady. On their way these last personages 
danced to the sound of the pipe and the tabor. Thus the bezant and its appur- 
tenances were carried to Enmore Green and there presented to the steward of 
Motcombe Manor, acting in behalf of his lord, with the request that Shaftes- 
bury might use the wells for another year. The steward accepted the gifts, and, 
granting the request in his lord’s name, returned the bezant, while keeping the 
other things for his own use. Usually he added a donation of bread and beer 
for the people, and then the procession returned to the town hall. 

Probably this tribute or trophy received its name from the earlier custom of 
paying (or offering) a gold coin of that name for the water-privilege to the Lord 
of Motcombe. In 1830 the manor and the town came under the same proprietor, 
making the tribute unnecessary. Moreover, the town is now well supplied with 
water from an artesian well, through the liberality of the Marquis of Westminster, 
its present owner.— McNox. 

41 . What event is celebrated in Longfellow^ s Hymn of the Mora- 

vian Nuns^^ f 

The consecration of Pulaski’s Banner is said in the title to be the occasion 
of the poem, but the incident present to the imagination of the young collegian 
and poet was quite different from the real one, and was evoked by a mistake, or 
slip of the pen. 

Reading one day in the Norih American Review the statement that “ the stand- 
ard of Count Casimir Pulaski’s legion was formed of a piece of silk embroidered 
by the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania,” Longfellow saw in poetic 
vision and reproduced in verse the scene described in the ” Hymn.” 

The word ” nuns,” however, should have been “ sisters,” for the Moravians 
at Bethlehem are Protestants of the simplest faith and plainest religious service; 
and the real transaction was a very simple affair. Count Pulaski, the brave 
Polish officer who came to aid our cause in the Revolutionary War, recruited a 
body of cavalry, called Pulaski’s Legion, in the summer of 1778, partly in the 
neighborhood of Bethlehem, and while there employed some of the good Mo- 
ravian Sisters, who were in the habit of adding to their frugal income by needle- 


OUR MONTHLY GOSSIP. 


141 


work, to make for him a small flag or pennon, to be attached to a lance. With 
his troop he was ordered the next year to South Carolina, and fell at the siege 
of Savannah. 

The making of the flag was not a matter of sentiment, but of practical need 
on both sides. Tliere was no choral service, no censer, or altar, or dim, mysteri- 
ous aisle, — no consecration of the flag at all, — nor was it large enough to drape 
the bier or be “the martial cloak and shroud’’ of the warrior fallen in battle. — 
McNox. 


OUE MONTHLY GOSSIP 

WITH EEADEES AND COREESPONDENTS. 


By this time it is probable that all election-bets have been settled and the 
carnival of folly which winds up a Presidential campaign is over. Never before 
has so large a number of odd and absurd wagers been laid, and never before has 
the public taken so much interest in them. The citizens of Philadelphia were 
for two days kept in a state of anxious suspense as to whether a certain sup- 
porter of Cleveland would or would not live up to agreement, — shave one-half 
of his face and appear in public with only one of a beautiful pair of whiskers. 
There were interviews a column long with himself and his wife, with the victori- 
ous better and his wife. Finally it was announced that the victor had generously 
absolved his friend, and the matter w^as allowed to drop. In Trenton, New Jersey, 
on November 27, twenty-five hundred people gathered at Taylor’s Opera-House 
to see “Ben” Walton, a prominent contractor, pay an election-bet. In case of 
Cleveland’s defeat he had agreed to play a hand-organ in the Opera-House in 
the dress of an Italian brigand. Tickets were sold, and the proceeds w’^ent to 
charity. “The uproar,” says the local report, “was so great that the music 
could not be heard half the time. It was increased when the crowds in the 
boxes began to throw nickels and quarters at the organist, and a perfect showier 
of the pieces descended from the galleries.” It is pleasant to note that “ Mr. 
Walton has rendered himself so popular by the manly way in which he paid the 
election-bet that he can have any office he wants here.” 

The wagering of money has been a favorite pastime with the English-speak- 
ing races from the time of William III., when it suddenly became the rage. It 
is in full accord with the Anglo-Saxon temperament, stubborn and impatient of 
contradiction, anxious to cut argument short, and ready to punish the holder 
of erroneous opinions. The rapid rise of the London clubs which in the reign 
of George III. had superseded the old coffee-houses was largely due to the fact 
that they provided the world of fashion with a central office for making wagers 
and a registry for recording them. The betting-books still in existence at 
Brooks’s club form a volume of unequalled interest. Fifty guineas that Lord 
Ilch ester gives his first vote in opposition and hits eight out of his first ten 
pheasants ; three hundred to fifty from a bachelor nobleman that four persons 
named are married before he is ; a hundred guineas on the Duke of Queensberry’s 
life against Lord Palmerston’s. The betting was hottest in war-time and during 
the trial of some noted criminal. The old yellow leaves are scored thick with 
bets that one of the Perreaus would be hanged ; that neither of them would be 
hanged ; that Dr. Dodd would be executed within two months ; that he would 


142 


OUR MONTHLY GOSSIP. 


cheat the gallows by suicide; that if he killed himself it would be by pistol and 
not by poison. 

A favorite form of betting was ^he offering of large odds on some very im- 
probable contingency. Thus, Fitzgerald laid five hundred guineas to ten that 
none of the cabinet would be beheaded by that day three years. Such bets 
often involved the passing of ready money to the person who took the odds. 
Thus, “ Lord Clermont has given Mr. Crawford ten guineas upon condition of 
receiving five hundred from him whenever Mr. Charles Fox shall be worth 
£100,000, clear of debts.” Mr. Charles Fox, himself, gives a guinea to Mr. Croft 
on condition of receiving fifty “ whenever Mr. Croft forgets two by honors in 
Mr. Fox’s presence.” During Fox’s lifetime no name was so frequent as his 
both as the subject and the maker of bets. He was especially fond of wagers 
whose settlement depended upon an antecedent condition. “Mr. E. Foley bets 
Mr. Charles Fox fifty guineas England is at war with France this day two years, 
supposing Louis XV. dead.” “ Lord Ossory bets Mr. Charles Fox one hundred 
guineas to ten that Dr. North is not Bishop of Durham this day two months, 
provided the present bishop dies within that time.” 

There was no event or experience in the whole compass of human existence 
which was too delicate or sacred for speculation. It was in allusion to quite the 
most innocent class of such wagers that Lord Mountford, when asked whether 
his daughter was going to present him with a grandchild, replied, “ Upon my 
word I do not know. I have no bet upon it.” But the law, which previous to 
1845 recognized the validity of wagers, refused to countenance them if against 
the principles of morality, public decency, or sound policy. A wager as to the 
time when the Emperor Napoleon would die was set aside as illegal, on the 
ground that it gave one of the parties an interest in the speedy death of a man 
much exposed to hazard. So likewise was a wager between two coach-proprie- 
tors wdiether or not a particular person would go by one of their coaches, because 
it might expose that person to inconvenience. In Pennsylvania it was laid down 
as a common-law rule that bets are illegal if they concern the age, height, weight, 
circumstances, or situation of any person, married or single, native or foreigner, 
in this country or abroad. 

Many odd bets have been made as to the possibility of certain feats. In the 
early part of the reign of George III. a gentleman wagered that he could jump 
into water seven feet deep with all his usual clothing on and undress himself 
completely. He won his wager. A butcher, in the same reign, undertook to 
cross the Thames in his wooden tray. Using his hands as paddles, he made the 
passage from Somerset Stairs to the Surrey side. The chroniclers record that 
seventy boat-loads of spectators were present, and bets to the aggregate amount 
of more than one thousand guineas depended on the event. A gentleman under- 
took to stand a whole day on London Bridge with a tray full of sterling sover- 
eigns and fail to find customers for them at a penny apiece. He won the wager, 
the passers-by believing that he was trying to cheat them with brass imitations. 
At five o’clock on a June morning in 1811 two Southdown sheep were shorn ; 
the wool was washed, carded, slubbed, roved, spun, and woven ; the cloth was 
scoured, fulled, tented, raised, sheared, dyed, and dressed ; and at half-past six 
the same evening the wool which had clad the sheep in the morning was worn 
as a dress-suit at his own dinner-table by Sir John Throckmorton, who must 
have eaten his dinner with a light heart and a brisk appetite, for he had won a 
thousand guineas on a wager. 


OUR MONTHLY GOSSIP. 


143 


A curious bet, exemplifying the thoroughness and efficiency of our postal 
service, was recently recorded in the Boston Courier. A New York caller told 
the editor that he had bet he would receive a letter posted in Paris and addressed 
simply with his name and America. He laid fifty dollars to twenty dollars on 
this, and twenty dollars to fifty dollars that it would be delivered to him as a 
first trial on the part of the post-office authorities. His name was not an unusual 
one, nor was he acquainted with the postal clerks in New York or elsewhere. 
But the explanation was simple enough : “ The European mails naturally come 
to New York, and the post-office people try the directory before they send a letter 
to the Dead-Letter Office. My name happens to stand at the head of the list in 
the directory, and so they tried me first, just as I supposed they would. I took 
my chances, of course, but I won all the same.” 

What was the “ Thundering Legion” ? A. S. K. 

According to a popular legend, the name of Thundering Legion (L., Legio 
Fulminata) was given to the Twelfth Legion of the Roman army under Marcus 
Aurelius, in a campaign against the Quadi in a.d. 174. The army was shut up 
in a defile, where it suffered greatly for want of water. In this extremity the 
Twelfth Legion, composed entirely of Christian soldiers, fell on their knees. 
Their prayer was followed by a refreshing shower, at the same time that a storm 
of thunder and lightning fell upon the enemy and dispersed them. In com- 
memoration of the event the Emperor gave those soldiers the name of the 
“ Thundering Legion” and at the same time ceased to persecute the Christians. 
The story gained wide credence in the earlier part of the third century, chiefly 
through the writings of Tertullian, who refers to a letter of Marcus Aurelius, as 
then extant, in which the facts were all given. And indeed it is more than 
likely that it has a certain basis of truth (see Merivale, vol. vii. p. 467), susceptible, 
if the reader chooses, of a purely natural explanation ; but the story errs in this 
at least, that the Legio Fulminata enjoyed its title long before the reign of Marcus 
Aurelius, from the days of Nero even. 

Who was Kaiser Heraclius? A. M. M. 

Heraclius, according to a German legend dating back to the twelfth century, 
was the son of a rich widow who, with his consent, gave away all her goods to 
ths poor, and so reduced them both to penury. Heraclius became a slave in the 
service of an imperial chamberlain. Now from his birth he possessed the faculty 
of discerning the hidden worth of stones and of horses, and the secret thoughts 
of women. He gave proofs of his powers before the emperor Phocas. Selecting 
what appeared to be the most worthless stone and horse in a number of both, he 
made them enact marvels. As a bride for the Emperor he chose a low-born 
damsel named Athenais, passing over all the proud ladies of the court, for 
well he knew there was no chaste one among them. The Emperor lived happily 
with his spouse for some years, and was then called off to battle. Contrary to 
Heraclius’s advice, he immured Athenais in a tower, so that she might not be 
tempted to sin in his absence ; but this overcarefulness piqued her pride, and she 
dishonored her husband through the aid of an old woman named Morphea. 
Heraclius discovered the truth as soon as he laid eyes on her again, and by his 
advice the Emperor divorced her and married her to her lover. Phocas soon 
after died, and Heraclius was made Emperor in his stead, recovering in a great 
war the Holy Rood which had been carried off* by the Persians. This legend is 
preserved in a poem of the thirteenth century called “ Kaiser Heraclius.” 


144 


BOOK-TALK. 


BOOK-TALK. 


T he Germans make a nice distinction between Mann and Mensch^ the former 
meaning the male human being and the latter the species, which includes both 
sexes. In English the one word man has to serve a double purpose : it may apply 
either to the sex or to the race. Were it not for this want of precision in English 
speech, carping critics would not have rendered necessary the following letter 
from the author of the noble series of souiiets “ To All Women” which were 
printed in our December number: 


“Castle Hill, Cobham, Albemarle Co., Virginia. 

“28th of November, 1888. 

“ My dear Mr. Walsh, — 

“ I have never taken any notice of the assaults upon myself, but the papers 
have attacked the two last lines in my sonnets ‘ To All Women,’ in a manner which 
leads me to believe that they consider me to have been deliberately blasphemous 
for the sake of what they term ‘ a play upon words.’ This I must answer and 
correct if possible. So anxious am I that no human creature shall think that I 
used that sacred name lightly, that I desire to change the last two lines to the 
following form : 

* Christ, Thou didst dio for women and for men, 

Let me but live for women, die for Thee.’ • 

I have never made a concession to carping critics save in this one instance, but I 
trust that you will do me the great service to correct these lines, as I have sug- 
gested, in ‘ Book-Talk,’ and in the next edition of the December number. 

“ Believe me 

“ Yours most sincerely, 

“ Amelie Rives.” 

At various times, in this or other departments of the magazine, allusion has 
been made to the sudden resuscitation of books that had originally dropped 
still-born from the press and for months or years had apparently been buried 
from public view. Sometimes this resuscitation has been effected by the fame 
which the author has happened to win by some succeeding work. Thus, Bret 
Harte’s “ Luck of Roaring Camp” had only a succls d’estime and his “ Condensed 
Novels” had been consigned to oblivion, when the “ Heathen Chinee” suddenly 
made his name a magic talisman that awakened the dead books to a new and 
vigorous existence. Henry James was unknown to the great public long after 
“ The Passionate Pilgrim,” “ Roderick Hudson,” and “ The American” had won 
him the esteem of the literary few, until the popularity of “ Daisy Miller” roused 
the Philistine to the knowledge that a new genius had arisen. Mallock’s “ New 
Republic” was not even deemed worthy the compliment of republication in this 
country until his amusing little skit “The New Paul and Virginia” set all the 
publishers upon the traces of his past work. Prosper M6rim4e’s “ Colomba,” a 
literary gem, proved a failure until “ Mateo Falcone,” an unpleasant but rather 
startling little sketch, caught the fancy of the groundlings. 


BOOK-TALK. 


145 


Other works have failed to attract attention at first on account of the medium 
in which they were published. Iif February, 1874, Longfellow’s “ Hanging of 
the Crane” disappeared in the pages of the New York Ledger, and was only 
brought to light a few months later by Sidney Woollett, the elocutionist, who 
read it as a “ new poem by Longfellow” before a cultivated Boston audience. In 
1880 the publishers of The Century decided that a serial story which had just 
run its course through Peterson^s Magazine was still as good as manuscript, 
and surprised the public wdth Mrs. Burnett’s “ A Fair Barbarian.” In some 
cases, books which at first had a languid circulation have been braced into 
vigorous life by the tonic influence of criticism. The criticism need not be 
flattering: bitterness is often as effective in a book-notice as in a medicine. 
To call a book immoral in these days is often to insure its speedy sale. The 
public buys a book that is vigorously abused, though it may feel righteously 
aggrieved when the abuse proves undeserved. But even favorable criticism has 
been known to help a book, if the criticism comes from some unusual and 
therefore interesting source. The astounding popularity of “ Robert Elsmere” 
(astounding in view of the fact that the book deserves success and does not 
attempt the lesser feat of commanding it), — the astounding popularity of “ Robert 
Elsmere” was due more largely to the public notice taken of it by Gladstone than 
to the fact that it was denounced from the pulpit. Carlyle found his fii*st hearty 
admirers in America, and it was the echoes of trans- Atlantic praise that, reaching 
his countrymen’s ears, taught them a prophet was living unhonored in his own 
country. Ruskin and Mallock have also owed part of their English fame to 
American recognition. On the other hand, Walt Whitman and Joaquin Miller 
were made popular in America by British praise. A curious case in point is 
furnished by “ Democracy.” That extremely clever book attracted little attention 
on its first appearance. It was praised by some critics and damned by others, 
little read by the American public, and entirely overlooked by the British pirate. 
Some years after, an English critic, evidently imbued with dislike of the Ameri- 
cans, happened upon the book. He may have been attracted by its savage 
denunciations of American politics and politicians ; he was evidently sensible 
to its many merits. He expressed his appreciation in Blackwood's Magazine, 
Other British journals took up the chorus of praise. The British pirates rushed 
in to claim the prize which they had formerly overlooked ; a dozen rival editions 
were placed upon the market by as many publishers. The excitement reached 
this country ; people were eager to see what it was that the British lion was 
devouring with so much gusto ; the book was bought and read and discussed, 
and the poor critics were forced to refurbish their old opinions. 

The temporary failure and the ultimate success of some other famous books 
are less easily explainable. There is “ Ben-Hur,” for instance, whose annual sales 
at present probably exceed those of any books but Shakespeare and the Bible. 
The first year after publication it sold only about fifteen hundred copies. Then 
suddenly and without any warning the sales bounded upward, and have continued 
frheir upward course ever since. “ Lorna Doone” is another example. And still 
another is “John Inglesant.” These books at first were failures, in spite of, it 
may be because of, their immediate acceptance by the critics. They were both 
unknown in America for many months after their issue. No Yankee publishers 
would run the risk of republishing. As with “ Ben-Hur,” they climbed slowly into 
popular favor. Then the non-literary world began to talk of them, and, what ia 


J46 


BOOK-TALK. 


more gratifying to the sordid publisher’s soul, to buy them. They were reprinted 
in this country in many forms, and reached enormous sales. Fitzgerald’s trans- 
lation of Omar Khayyam’s “ Rubaiyat” had to wait thirty years, had to wait until 
after the author’s death, before it received the recognition it deserved. The first 
edition was welcomed by a few choice spirits, Thackeray among the number, but 
the public failed to appreciate it, and the larger moiety of the published copies 
found their way into the junk-shop. In 1883 it was revived in England, was 
reprinted in Boston, and made Fitzgerald’s name known to two continents. It 
still remains a monumental example of how a translator can improve upon even 
a great original, for Fitzgerald is preferred by many Oriental scholars to Omar 
Khayyam himself, and certainly other translations, which profess to be more 
literal, lose the nameless fragrance, the overwhelming power, of Fitzgerald’s 
verse. That marvellously passionate drama the “ Joseph and his Brethren” of 
Charles Wells dropped dead from the press in 1830, and was revived into im- 
mortality by Swinburne in 1883. 

Here is “The Story of an African Farm.” It was first published in 1883. 
It was not a failure, for most critics praised it, and the public did not absolutely 
ignore it. But it is only within the last few months that people have begun to 
speak of it as a really great book. Perhaps “ Robert Elsraere” helped to bring it 
into prominence, — “ Robert Elsmere,” which has also done something for “ John 
Ward, Preacher,” from the fancied resemblance between them. When the query 
“ Have you read ‘ Robert Elsmere?’ ” began to acquire a flavor which the Oriental 
language of the street Arab would condemn as chestnutty, the query “ Have you 
read ‘ The Story of an African Farm ?’ ” still held the mystic charm of esoteric 
knowledge, of recondite learning, and the questioned felt humbled as before a 
superior if compelled to answer in the negative. 

Not that the two books are at all alike, except that both deal with modern 
agnosticism. Mrs. Ward’s book is a literary work of high rank, written thought- 
fully, wisely, carefully, — preserving the aroma of the midnight oil. Miss 
Schreiner’s is essentially non-literary, it is crude, misshapen, inchoate, but it is 
written with passion, with tears, with a pen that burns the paper. Mrs. Ward 
will write other books. Miss Schreiner may never do so, or if she does they may 
be failures. It is a trite saying that every man has it in him to write one book. 
For every man’s life is a romance if properly related, if he could only throw the 
light of art upon the awful silence which all of us— even the frivolous, the gar- 
rulous, the worldly-minded— carry about with us. The theologians say that the 
l^dy is the temple of the Holy Ghost, and in poet and clown, in saint and sinner, 
alike that Presence remains, and neither poet nor saint can more than dimly utter 
what clown and sinner feel with all the poignancy of their being. Genius ! quotha I 
What does the greatest genius know about you or me, or about the world which 
is the aggregate you and me ? No more than you or I know, only he has the gift 
of expression which you and I lack. But sometimes an inarticulate cry out of 
the depths is more potent and searching than poet’s song. “ The Story of an 
African Farm” is that inarticulate cry. 

It is surprising to know that this book was written by a woman, for women 
rarely unveil themselves as men do. Most of the famous “ Confessions” were 
written by men. If it is tme that Miss Schreiner was only eighteen when she 


BOOK-TALK. 


147 


produced it, then the book is not only a wonder, but a phenomenon. And yet, 
indeed, why should it be a phenomenon ? In early youth, when the eye is bright, 
the senses fresh, the pulse bounding, and the vigorous blood surging and rushing 
as liquid fire through our veins, we see and feel and sorrow and joy with most 
acuteness. It is then that we pass through the most terrible crises of our life, 
through the cataclysms that are to make or mar us. We may not express our- 
selves so perfectly, for the gift of expression comes with years and reflection. 
“ That which would become immortal in art must first perish out of life.” But 
if we only can cry out, our cry will be louder and more piercing then than later. 

Mrs. Ward’s book describes the passage of a soul from the gladness of faith 
to the blackness of unfaith ; Miss Schreiner’s, its passage from the blackness of 
faith to the blackness of unfaith. All the interest of the book is centred in the 
struggles of that soul. The scene, to be sure, is laid in South Africa ; it might 
almost as well have been laid in New England. There are other characters, 
unsuccessful caricatures like Bonaparte Blenkins, loving and tender or purely 
humorous delineations like the child-like old German overseer, the bovinely 
patient Em, or the coarse and practical and self-suflicing Boer woman Tant’ 
Sannie. But these would never arrest the attention ; they do not make the book 
great ; they are only accessories or foils, or, to run our metaphor perhaps into the 
ground, they are reverberators to echo and prolong the agonized cry of the 
struggling soul. That soul is sometimes called Waldo, sometimes Lyndall, some- 
times Waldo’s Stranger: it is always the soul of the author crying through these 
transparent masks. And the soul that listens says, “ Lo ! it is the voice of my 
soul that I hear.” 

Another example of buried books, and we have done. Here is an author 
who has written a number of excellent novels, published ten, fifteen, and twenty 
years ago, and received not without praise, indeed, yet without any general recog- 
nition, who is now just coming into her own. The Messrs. Cassell & Company 
are doing a good work in republishing the novels of Mrs. Elizabeth Stoddard. 
“Temple House” and “Two Men” are excellent and readable: they live in the 
memory after you have read them. The quotation from Lowell which the 
authoress has prefixed to “ Temple House” is singularly adequate. “ The sunset 
is original every evening, though for thousands of years it has built out of the 
same light and vapor its visionary cities with domes and pinnacles and its 
delectable mountains which night shall abase and destroy.” These books are 
essentially realistic, they deal with things familiar, with the men and women 
around us. Everything is as ordinary as a sunset, and as original, and the 
charm of a poetical imagination sufiuses the whole with glory. 

W. H. ’’Harrison, Jr., Publishing Co., send us “Practical Orthoepy and 
Critique,” by E. B. Warman, A.M., which gives a good dictionary of difficult 
words and their pronunciation, compiled from the best authorities, with a lot 
of introductory nonsense, including a very poor wood-cut of the author, and 
“How to get Eich in the South, telling What to do, How to do it, and the 
Profits to be realized from it,” by William H. Harrison, Jr. The author, we 
notice, is pursuing his fortunes in Chicago. 


EVERY DAY’S RECORD 


JANUARY. 


The ancient Roman year, ascribed to 
Romulus, is said to have had but ten 
months, there being sixty-one days left, 
of whose disposal we are ignorant. Numa 
Pompilius, the second king, is credited 
with adding two months, January at the 
beginning and February at the end of 
the year, this order being changed and 
February made the second month in 452 
B.c. January was named in honor of 
Janus, the deity presiding over doors, and 
hence appropriately giving title to the 
opening period of the year. In the more 
ancient calendars the year did not begin 
in mid-winter, as at present, but at vari- 
ous later dates, the Jewish year beginning 
on March 26. In Christian communities 
several New- Year dates were adopted, 
Christmas, Easter, etc., the English year 
beginning on Christmas till the accession 
of William the Conqueror, when its date 
was changed to January 1. But this was 
the popular year only. The legal year 
began on March 25 in most of the na- 
tions of Christendom until recently, the 
change to January 1 having been made in 
France in 1564, in Scotland in 1600, in 
Holland, Germany, and Russia in 1700, 
and in England not until 1752. Before 
that time dates were so given as to recog- 
nize both years, as, for instance, January 
10, 1727-8, the popular year being 1728, 
the legal 1727. 

Our Saxon ancestors gave to January 
in their heathen days the name of Wolf- 
tnonat (wolf-month), on account of its 
being the period of greatest danger from 
wolves, whom hunger then drove down 
into the settlements. At a later period 
they called it Aefter Yule (After Christ- 
mas). 

With the coming of January wo find 
ourselves in the very heart of the winter. 
The occasional charitable mildness of 
December is at an end ; there is no trace 
as yet of the February presage of spring ; 
frost and snow hold high carnival, and 
148 


the streams are bound in crystal fetters 
which it seems as if all the cunning of 
the solar rays could never unlock. Out- 
doors the wanderer envelops himself in a 
double thickness of clothing, and shivers 
under all his woollen safeguards as he 
ploughs his way through knee-deep 
snows. In-doors the fires are kept at full 
blaze, and winter is laughed at in those 
happy homes which have well-filled coal- 
bins and ample furnaces. This season, 
indeed, is the paradise of the book-lover. 
Lounging, book in hand, in a cosey cor- 
ner of his well- warmed library, the roar 
of the winter blast is but as distant music 
to his ear, and the richness of prose and 
rhythmic charm of poetry flow into his 
mind with a fulness and depth of mean- 
ing which no man can extract from them 
in the tropic midsummer days. 

Nor is out-door January all bleakness 
and barrenness. The marrow-freezing 
blast does not forever blow, nor the dull 
snows forever fall. The sun has his days of 
lordship, in which his light, though cold, 
is crystal clear, and the snow-clad earth 
and steel-blue skies possess a beauty of 
their own that rivals the summer’s more 
varied charm. Now is the time when 
with bounding pulse and blooming cheek 
man and maiden go abroad, their cheery 
voices and musical laughter full of 
thanksgiving even for the winter. The 
ice-bound streams ring with the clear 
clang of the skater’s steel as he cuts the 
line of beauty with multitudinous repe- 
tition into the polished surface. The 
mellow jingle of bells fills the frosty air 
as the light sleighs glide rapidly by, their 
fur-clad occupants laughing with merry 
defiance in winter’s white-bearded face. 
And the happy children with their sleds, 
coasting down snow-covered slopes, are so 
brimful of joyful glee that for their sakes, 
if not for our own, we cannot but feel 
that even January has its share of saving 
grace. 


EVERY DAY'S RECORD. 


149 


EVENTS. 


OTanuary 1. 

New Year’s Day. This has been from 
a very ancient date a day of social festiv- 
ities and merrymaking. In England and 
Scotland the drinking of the wassail- 
bowl of spiced ale was of old a favorite 
custom, the word “ wassail” arising from 
the wass hael greeting of the ancient Saxon 
revellers. The practice of New- Year 
presents, once so prevalent, was common 
in ancient Rome, and is supposed to have 
been of a very remote origin. It is yet a 
favorite custom in Paris, but elsewhere 
Christmas has largely replaced New 
Year as the gift-season. In this country 
New York still keeps up the old system 
of New- Year greetings, though the 
Christmas observances elsewhere have 
prevented this custom from becoming 
general. In China it is said that New 
Year’s Day is a season for the general 
paying of debts, no Chinaman wishing 
to enter the new year with a load on his 
shoulders or on his memory. 

1752. By act of Parliament it was 
decreed that the new year should here- 
after begin on January 1. Previously, 
in all the British dominions, it had legally 
begun on March 25. In the previous 
year (1751) the New Style was adopted 
in Great Britain, to begin on January 1 
of this year. This left eleven days out 
of the calendar, that number of days 
having been added to the true year by 
the imperfection of the Julian Calendar. 
New Style had been adopted in most 
European countries between 1582 and 
1587. Old Style is still retained in Russia, 
whose reckoning is at present twelve days 
behind the true time. 

1777. The Journal de Paris, said to 
be the first French daily newspaper, 
began publication. 

1788. The London Times, which had 
been published since January 13, 1785, 
as the Daily Universal Register, adopted 
its present name, under which it has en- 
tered its second century of existence. 
John Walter was its first publisher, and 
it still remains in the hands of his de- 
scendants. 

1808. The importation of slaves into 
the United States was abolished, in pur- 
suance of an act of Congress passed in 
1806. 

1833. The Neio York Morning Post, 
the first of American penny papers, was 
issued this day. Two cents a copy was at 


first charged for it, then one cent. It 
died in three weeks. 

1855. Extremely cold weather in the 
United States in January and February 
of this and the succeeding winter. Mer- 
cury congealed in certain localities. The 
cold extended to Europe, the rivers of 
England being generally frozen up. 

1863. West Virginia, which had been 
separated from the old State of Virginia 
as a loyal section, was admitted as a State 
into the American Union. 

1863. President Lincoln proclaimed 
the freedom of the slaves in the seceded 
States, except in such parts as were held 
by the Union army. 

1876. The Centennial year opened in 
the United States with great rejoicings. 
In Philadelphia the demonstrations were 
particularly enthusiastic, in view of its 
being the seat of the Declaration of In- 
dependence, and of the coming Centen- 
nial Exposition. 

1881. William Gale, an English pe- 
destrian, had attempted j;he great feat of 
walking two thousand five hundred miles 
in one thousand hours. The time expired 
on January 1, he having walked but two 
thousand four hundred and five and one- 
half miles, and therefore failed. 

1883. Gambetta, one of the most 
rominent of recent French statesmen, 
ied. He had made himself a popular 
favorite before the war with Germany, 
and was one of the first to proclaim a 
republic after the battle of Sedan, be- 
coming a leading spirit in the subsequent 
resistance to the German army. He con- 
tinued highly popular, and did much to 
defeat the royalist intrigues and force 
MacMahon to resign. His funeral was 
celebrated on the 6th with great pomp 
and popular demonstrations. 

1885. A severe earthquake in Spain 
began December 30, and continued, at 
intervals, throughout January, the dis- 
tricts of Granada and Malaga suffering 
great injuries. About two thousand lives 
were lost, the ofllcial reports showing that 
in Granada alone six hundred and ninety- 
five were killed and one thousand four 
hundred and eighty injured. 

1886. The annexation of Burmah to 
the British Empire was formally an- 
nounced. This added a great district to 
the enormous British possessions in Asia, 
and one which has so far not been held 
without difliculty. 


150 


EVERY DAY^S RECORD. 


1886. A serious fire broke out in De- 
troit, a large theatre, numerous ware- 
houses, and other buildings being de- 
stroyed, with a loss of over one million 
dollars. One fireman was killed and 
several were seriously injured. 

1887. The eightieth anniversary of the 
entrance of Emperor William into the 
army was celebrated in Germany. Eighty 
years’ continuous army service is an event 
probably without precedent. 

•January 3. 

18. Ovid, a celebrated Koman poet, 
died. Of his many works he is best 
known by the “ Metamorphoses,” or 
poetical renditions of mythological le- 
gends. He offended Augustus, and was 
banished to Tomi, a bleak region near the 
mouth of the Danube, where he died. 

1788. Georgia ratified the Constitution 
of the United States. 

1844. Thesteamboat Shepherdess struck 
on a snag in the Mississippi near St. Louis. 
She filled with such rapidity that the 
sleeping passengers were drowned in their 
berths, more than forty lives being lost. 

i86i. William I. became King of 
Prussia. He was the son of Frederick 
William III. Soon after his accession he 
appointed Bismarck minister of foreign 
affairs, to whose statesmanship Prussia 
owes much of its rapid increase in power 
and territory. 

1879. A thirty-eight-ton gun exploded 
on the Thunderer, an English turret-ship, 
while being practised with, ten men being 
killed and over thirty injured. A boiler- 
explosion had taken place on the same ves- 
sel in 1876, killing forty-five and wound- 
ing fifty. 

1883. Disastrous fioods occurred in 
various parts of central Europe. The 
Khine swept away its banks in many 
43laces, making a lake five miles wide in 
one locality. Many villages were sub- 
merged. The Danube overfiowed the 
lower portions of Vienna, and did great 
damage elsewhere. In France the Seine, 
Saone, and Doubs rose to an extraordi- 
nary height and did enormous damage. 

1884. A collision took place on the 
Grand Trunk Kailroad of Canada, near 
Toronto. Twenty-two workmen, on their 
way to wdrk, were killed, and about 
thirty seriously injured. 

1885. An explosion of dynamite oc- 
curred in the tunnel of the Metropolitan 
underground railway of London. A 
passing train suffered severely from the 
explosion, but no important injury was 
done to the tunnel. 

1886. Fox-hunting was discontinued 
in Limerick county, Ireland, in conse- 
quence of the persistent poisoning of 


foxes and hounds by unknown persona 
opposed to the hunt. 

•Janiia-ry 3. 

1777. The battle of Princeton took 
place. This conflict, in which the Amer- 
icans were victorious, and which quickly 
followed the victory at Trenton, aided in 
restoring the confidence of the colonists 
in the ultimate success of their cause. 

1816. The Boston Recorder., the second 
religious newspaper in the United States, 
was issued at Boston. The first was The 
Recorder, issued at Chillicothe, Ohio, in 
1814. 

1870. Work began on the Brooklyn 
Suspension Bridge, by the sinking of a 
huge caisson or coffer-dam at the site of 
the Brooklyn tower. This great bridge 
was completed and opened for travel May 
24, 1883. It cost sixteen millions of dol- 
lars, and is upheld by four huge cables, 
each of which contains five thousand two 
hundred and ninety -six steel wires. 
Twenty persons were killed, in various 
ways, during its construction. 

1883. A singular accident, that threat- 
ened disastrous consequences, happened in 
France, at a point where the Khone River 
runs through a narrow gorge. A land-slip 
hurled a large mass of earth into this 
gorge, completely blocking up the stream, 
whose waters rose behind the dam with 
dangerous rapidity. Fortunately, after a 
few hours the river burst through the 
dam, and the peril was averted. 

1886. An earthquake, attended with 
violent atmospheric disturbances, oc- 
curred in the Argentine Republic. 

1886. Emperor William of Germany 
celebrated the silver jubilee (the twenty- 
fifth anniversary) of his accession to the 
throne of Prussia. 

•January 4=. 

1642. Charles I. of England attempted 
to arrest the five members of Parliament, 
Hampden, Pym, Hazelrig, Holies, and 
Strode, who had opposed his arbitrary ac- 
tions. They escaped, and the king’s un- 
wise effort went far to precipitate the revo- 
lution that brought him to the scaffold. 

f858. Rachel, one of the most famous 
of modern tragediennes, died near Cannes, 
France. With a simple and natural man- 
ner she combined a power of voice, ges- 
ture, and attitude that produced great 
effects on her audiences and gave her an 
exalted position as an actress. She visited 
America in 1855. and performed in New 
York, Philadelphia, and Boston. 

1875. Political disturbances took place 
in New Orleans, government troops 
ejecting several members from the Legis- 
lature as not properly elected Serious 
political disturbances had taken place in 


EVERY DAY^S RECORD. 


,151 


the same city in January, 1872; and in 
February, 1873, fighting occurred and a 
state of civil war for a time prevailed. 

1882. J. W. Draper, a distinguished 
American scientist and historian, died. 
He was born in Liverpool, but spent most 
of his life in connection with the Univer- 
sity of New York. In addition to his 
scientific works, he wrote “ History of the 
Intellectual Development of Europe,” a 
work which, while it has been 'severely 
criticised, is so interesting in style as to 
have become very popular. He was the 
author of several other historical works. 

1886. Women voted for the first time 
in the city of Toronto, Canada. 

1887. The Hoosac Tunnel was sold to 
the Fitchburg Railroad for ten million 
dollars. This tunnel, four and three-quar- 
ter miles long through the mountains of 
Massachusetts, is the longest in the U nited 
Stales. It cost more than fourteen mil- 
lions of dollars. 

•J aniiary 5. 

1589. Catherine de M4dicis died. This 
woman, who rendered herself infamous by 
her perfidy and cruelty, was the daugh- 
ter of I,^orenzo de’ Medici, and the wife of 
Henry II. of France. After the death of 
her husband she was fora while regent of 
the kingdom. She corrupted the morals 
of her sons, stirred up civil war among 
her subjects, and instigated the Massacre 
of St. Bartholomew, one of the most 
terrible events known in French history. 

1857. The Northern Belle, an Ameri- 
can vessel, was wrecked near IBroadstairs. 
In recognition of the heroism of the brave 
boatmen who saved the crew, the United 
States government sent twenty-one silver 
medals and thirteen hundred and fifty 
dollars to be distributed among them. 

1884. A convent was burned in Belle- 
ville, Illinois, twenty-seven lives being 
lost. 

1886. Destructive floods occurred in 
the Pennsylvania coal-region, Williams- 
port, Pottsville, Shenandoah, and other 
places being overflowed, with heavy loss. 

January O. 

813. Twelfth Day, or the feast of the 
Epiphany, was instituted. It celebrates 
the appearance of the star which con- 
ducted the Magi to the place where the 
infant Christ was to be found, and re- 
ceived its popular name from its bei ng the 
twelfth day after Christmas, to which the 
holiday observances were extended in old 
times. One of the principal features of 
the Twelfth-Day merrymakings was the 
cutting of a large cake in which a bean 
had been inserted Whoever got the 
piece containing the bean became “ King 
of the Bean” and leader in the day’s fes- 


tivities. At one time there was a queen 
as well as a king of the Twelfth-Day fes- 
tival 

1786. The Halsewell, an East Tndia- 
man, was wrecked, three hundred and 
eighty-six persons being drowned. 

1839. A terrible hurricane raged on 
the. west coast of England and Ireland, 
the coasts and harbors being covered with 
wrecks. Dublin sufiered dreadfully, and 
more than two hundred houses were 
blown down in other Irish towns. In 
Liverpool twenty persons were killed by 
falling buildings, and one hundred were 
drowned. 

1840. Madame D’Arblay, the earliest 
of celebrated women novelists, died. Her 
novel of “ Evelina,” issued in 1778, made 
a remarkable sensation, which was in- 
creased b}' her second book, “ Cecilia.” 
These books have been highly lauded by 
critics, but are little read at present. 

January 7, 

St. Distafi'’s Day, or the first working 
day after the Christmas festival season. 
The maids now returned to the distaff, 
and the men to the plough, but it was the 
old custom in rural England for the men 
to set fire to the flax which the women 
were preparing to spin, which pleasantry 
the latter requited by dashing buckets of 
water over the ploughmen. 

1715. Fenelon, the author of “ The 
Adventures of Telemachus,” died. He 
was the preceptor of the grandson of 
Louis ilV., presumptive heir to the 
throne, and a prince of violent temper. 
The work above named was written for 
the instruction of this prince, whose 
character changed greatly under Fene- 
lon’s teachings. UnforUinately, he died 
young, and failed to come to the throne. 

1883. A collision took place between 
the Kirby Hall and the Inman line 
steamer City of Brussels at the mouth of 
the Mersey. The City of Brussels sank in 
twenty minutes, with a loss of ten lives. 

1885. The government of Guatemala, 
desiring to build an important railroad 
from the capital to the port of St. Thomas, 
on the Caribbean Sea. took the following 
unusual means to raise the necessary 
money. Every adult member of the 
population was made a compulsory share- 
holder to the extent of at least one share, 
at a nominal value of forty dollars In 
case of proved poverty ten years were 
given in which to make the payments. 

January 8. 

1642. Galileo, the celebrated natural 
philosopher of Italy, died at Florence. 
His contributions to physical science were 
many and of great value, among them 
being the construction of the first tele- 


162 


EVERY DAY^S RECORD. 


scope, with which he made important dis- 
coveries. He was severely treated by the 
Inquisition for advancing the doctrine 
that the earth moves round the sun, in- 
stead of the sun round the earth as pre- 
viously held. He appeared to retract this 
opinion, but quietly whispered to a friend, 
“ It moves, neverthel-ess,” his retraction, 
as is generally the case with forced opin- 
ions, being lip-service only. 

1731. The first number of the South 
Carolina Gazette, the pioneer newspaper 
of South Carolina, was issued at Charles- 
ton on this day. 

1815. "The battle of New Orleans was 
fought. A treaty of peace had been 
signed two weeks before, but this was un- 
known to the combatants, and the British 
army of twelve thousand men attacked 
the intrenchments defended by six thou- 
sand men under General Jackson. They 
were defeated with immense slaughter, 
the Americans scarcely losing a man. 
General Pakenham, the British com- 
mander, was killed, and the army has- 
tened to embark and sail away from that 
dangerous locality. 

1885. The will of George Gardener, of 
Boston, read this day, contained the odd 
provision that the trustees of his property 
should pay his widow annually eleven 
hundred and sixty-one ounces of pure 
gold, this being her exact weight (ninety- 
six and three-quarter pounds) at the time 
the will was made. 

1886. A fire in Philadelphia destroyed 
cotton-, woollen-, and gingham-mills, 
with other property, to the value of over 
one million dollars. 

1886. The New York Board of Aider- 
men were charged with having received 
bribes to the extent of three hundred thou- 
sand dollars for granting the franchise to 
the Broadway street-railway. The result 
of the subsequent trial was the sending 
of several of them to prison and the flight 
of others, while Jacob Sharp, the briber, 
was punished with fine and imprisonment. 

1887. The German ship Elizabeth went 
ashore near Cape Henry, and became a 
total wreck, thirty-seven lives being lost, 
among them five of the life-saving crew. 

•January D. 

1788. Connecticut ratified the Consti- 
tution of the United States. 

1854. The Astor Library was opened 
in New York. This valuable institution 
was established by John Jacob Astor, who 
left four hundred thousand dollars by will 
for the building and endowment of a free 
library in that city. His son, William B. 
Astor, subsequently added nearly as much 
more, so that the institution is very liber- 
ally endowed. 

1861. The first shot in the American 


civil war was fired on this day, at the 
steamer Star of the West, which had been 
sent to Charleston harbor with provisions 
for the garrison in Fort Sumter. As she 
moved up the bay, a cannon-ball was fired 
into her from Fort Moultrie. The steamer 
turned and left the harbor, without trying 
to carry out her errand. 

1861. The State of Mississippi followed 
the example of South Carolina in seceding 
from the Union. The other Southern 
States seceded on the following dates : 
Florida, January 10; Alabama, January 
11; Georgia, January 19; Louisiana, 
January 26; North Carolina, January 
30; Texas, February 1; Virginia, April 
17 ; Arkansas, May 6. 

1873. Napoleon III. died. He had 
lost the empire of France as a conse- 
quence of the battle of Sedan, and his 
misfortunes and the state of exile in which 
he subsequently lived probably hastened 
his death. 

1878. Victor Emmanuel, King of Italy, 
died. His career was a remarkable one, 
he having been the first ruler over all Italy 
since the days of ancient Rome. He began 
life as King of Sardinia, but by skilful 
movements, aided by the brilliant diplo- 
macy of Count Cavour and the Act that 
Italy was now ready for unity of govern- 
ment, he brought the whole peninsula 
under his control, making Rome the capi- 
tal of the new kingdom. 

1886. A destructive storm raged over 
all the United States and Canada, many 
lives being lost by wrecks and otherwise. 

1887. The Alcazar Palace at Toledo, 
Spain, was totally destroyed by fire, caus- 
ing a loss of one million dollars. 

•January lO. 

1840. The penny post was established 
in England. Previous to this time letters 
had been charged for according to dis- 
tance, penny postage for all distances 
within the United Kingdom being first 
proposed by Rowland Hill in 1837. Under 
the new law, postage was fixed at the rate 
of one penny for letters of half-ounce 
weight. 

1853. Madame Sontag, the celebrated 
singer, made her first appearance in this 
country at Niblo’s Garden Theatre, New 
York. She afterwards sang in the prin- 
cipal cities of the country, and went to 
Mexico, where she was attacked with 
cholera and died at Vera Cruz in 1864. 

i860. A serious disaster happened at 
Lawrence, Massachusetts, in the fall of 
the Pemberton Cotton-Mills, one of the 
largest factory-buildings in the country. 
While the machinery was in full motion 
and all the hands at work, the building 
suddenly collapsed and fell, without warn- 
ing. Several hundred operatives were 


EVERY DAY^S RECORD. 153 


buried in the ruins, and, fire starting from 
the accidental breaking of a lantern in the 
hands of one of the searchers, many of 
the survivors were burned to death. The 
loss of life was over two hundred, while 
several hundred others were injured. 

1883. The Newhall House, a Milwau- 
kee hotel, took fire and burned to the 
ground, nearly a hundred persons losing 
their lives in the confiagration, some being 
burned, others killed by leaping from the 
windows. 

1886. A destructive fire broke out in 
Philadelphia, the loss being estimated at 
a million and a half of dollars. 

January 11, 

1612. The Great Mogul, the ruler of 
the Tartar empire in India, authorized 
the English to establish factories at Surat, 
Ahmedabad, and other places. This was 
the entering wedge to the English con- 
quest of that country, in which the 
Moguls were driven from their throne, 
which they had gained by a previous 
invasion. 

1785. The United States Congress as- 
sembled in New York. The sessions of 
Congress continued there till 1790, when 
Philadelphia was made the Federal capi- 
tal for ten years. In 1800 Congress met 
in Washington. 

1805. Michigan Territory was formed. 
Previous to this date this region had 
formed a portion of Indiana. 

1820. Half the city of Savannah was 
destroyed by a conflagration. Four hun- 
dred and sixty-three buildings were 
burned, with a loss of four millions of 
dollars. 

1839. A severe earthquake at Mar- 
tinique did immense damage to the island. 
Nearly half of Port Royal was destroyed, 
and about seven hundred persons were 
killed. 

1866. The steamer London, bound to 
Melbourne, foundered in the Bay of Bis- 
cay. About two hundred and twenty 
persons perished, among them G. V. 
Brooke, the popular tragedian, and Dr. 
Woolley, principal of the University of 
Sydney. About the same tqpe the steamer 
Amalia foundered, with a cargo valued at 
one million dollars. 

1883. The foreign control in Egypt 
was abolished, and that country left to the 
government of her own rulers. France 
protested against the withdrawal of the 
foreign troops, which had held the country 
since the defeat of Arabi Pacha. 

1884. Serious floods took place in Ohio, 
the flood-height of the river at Cincinnati 
being higher than in the gre'at flood of 
1832. Thousands of dwellings were sub- 
merged, and twenty thousand people 
driven from their homes. The Mississippi 


from Cairo to New Orleans rose to a great 
height. 

1886. A terrific storm prevailed along 
the Atlantic coast of the United States 
from Cape Hatteras to Labrador. An im- 
mense amount of property in shipping, 
houses, etc., was destroyed, and many 
lives were lost. The storm was followed 
by a spell of very cold weather. 

January 13, 

1582. The Duke of Alva died. This 
celebrated Spanish general, who had 
fought in most of the campaigns of Charles 
V., was sent by Philip II. to subdue the 
revolt in the Netherlands. Here he dis- 
played great ability as a general ; but the 
cruelty with which he treated the people 
and the captured cities did much to make 
the Netherlands resolute in their resist- 
ance to Spanish domination. He boasted 
that in the space of four years he had 
brought eighteen thousand persons to the 
seaflbld. 

1801. Lavater, a celebrated writer on 
physiognomy, died. He was a Protestant 
minister at Zurich, and the author of 
many works, religious and poetic. His 
work on physiognomy is entitled “ Phys- 
iognomic Fragments for the Promotion 
of the Knowledge and Loveof Mankind,” 
and contains much interesting material. 
Lavater was shot by a French soldier at 
the capture of Zurich in 1799. He suffered 
more than a year from the wound, and 
died from it in 1801. 

1887. The British emigrant-ship Ka- 
unda was sunk by collision with the 
ark Ada Melmore ofi* the Brazilian 

coast. Three hundred pei-sons lost their 
lives by this disaster. 

January 13, 

1690. George Fox, the founder of the 
Society of Friends, or Quakers as they 
were called in derision by their opponents, 
died in London on this day. He was of 
humble birth, and religiously inclined 
from youth, though he joined in the 
drinking-habits of his associates. At 
nineteen years of age began that change 
of life, and intense conception of his sin- 
fulness, with which his mission as a re- 
ligious leader began. In his conception 
all men were equal before God, and def- 
erence or show of respect to those in 
authority was improper, complimentary 
forms and ceremonies being opposed to 
Christian simplicity and rectitude. He 
opposed also a hireling ministry, holding 
that no man is called upon to exhort his 
fellows except in response to spiritual 
prompting from within. Though much 
persecuted and often imprisoned, he con- 
tinued his ministrations, gaining many 
followers, and giving rise to a religious 


164 


EVERY DAY'S RECORD. 


society which has exercised an important 
influence on the moral and political con- 
ditions of England and the United States. 

1842. The terrible massacre of the 
English army on its retreat from Cabul 
took place. This army, which was being 
withdrawn from the British occupation of 
Afghanistan, consisted of three thousand 
eight hundred and forty-nine soldiers and 
twelve thousand camp-followers, and be- 
gan its retreat on January 6. It was at- 
tacked in the Khyber Pass by a swarm of 
Afghans, and of the whole army only one 
Englishman, Dr. Brydone, with a few 
natives, escaped. The doctor came into 
Jellalabad on the 13 th, clinging in utter 
exhaustion to the neck of a wretched little 
pony, as the sole representative of the 
army. 

1886. An explosion occurred in a coal- 
mine at Evanston, Iowa, thirteen miners 
being killed. 

JTanuary 14=. 

1696. Madame de Sevigne died. She 
was an admired French beauty of her day, 
but her celebrity arose from her letters, 
which for graceful vivacity and charm of 
style have hardly an equal in the whole 
range of epistolary literature. 

1800. The Queen, an English trans- 
port, was wrecked on Trefusis Point, 
three hundred and sixty-nine lives being 
lost. On the same day of the year 1871 , 
the T. L. McGill, a steamboat, was burned 
on the Mississippi Kiver, with a loss of 
fifty-eight lives. 

1843. The city of Cincinnati was 
lighted with gas for the first time on the 
evening of this day. 

.January 15. 

1865. Fort Fisher was stormed and 
taken by the force under General Terry. 
This closed the last Confederate port, and 
the fugitives blew up two Confederate 
cruisers, the Tallahassee and the Chicka- 
mauga, which during the preceding year 
had done much damage to the shipping 
along the Atlantic coast. 

1876. The invention of the telephone 
was completed, the first public experi- 
ments with it being made at the Phila- 
delphia Centennial Exhibition. In Febru- 
ary of the next year successful experiments 
were made with it from Boston to Salem, 
eighteen miles apart. Telephones of im- 
perfect character had been made fifteen 
years before, but the Bell telephone was 
the first to work satisfactorily. This re- 
markable method of conveying the sound 
of the voice by electricity has made ex- 
traordinary progress within the past ten 
years, and is now very commonly em- 
ployed for. conversation at a distance in 


all our large cities, and between the cities 
of Philadelphia and New York. 

1886. An explosion took place in a 
colliery at Almy, Wyoming, as a train 
was entering the shaft of the mine. The 
trucks, with thirteen men upon them, 
were blown out in fragments as if from a 
cannon, and the country desolated for 
seven hundred yards around the mine- 
entrance. 

JTauLiiary 10. 

1599. EdmundSpenser, oneof themost 
illustrious of English poets, died. His 
great poem is “ The Faerie Queene,” an 
extended allegorical epic, containing nu- 
merous passages of poetic excellence, 
though too long and involved to be much 
read at the present day. He wrote several 
other poems of great beauty. He had 
been given an estate in Ireland, but was 
driven from it during a rebellion, his 
house being plundered and burned, with, 
it is said, an infant child in it. Spenser 
died soon after this calamity, in great des- 
titution. 

1707. The Act of Union, which made 
one kingdom of England and Scotland, 
was passed by the Scottish Parliament. 
It was passed by the English Parliament 
on March 6, and became operative on 
June 1 . 

1778. The independence of the United 
States was recognized by France. A 
treaty of alliance was entered into on 
February 6, which declared that if war 
broke out between England and France 
it should be made a common cause be- 
tween the two countries, and that neither 
should conclude peace without the con- 
sent of the other. 

1794. Gibbon, the distinguished his- 
torian, died. He was of English birth, 
but spent much of his life abroad, and, as 
he tells us, during a visit to Rome, “ as he 
sat musing amidst the ruins of the Capitol, 
while the barefooted friars were singing 
vespers in the temple of Jupiter, the idea 
of writing the decline and fall of the city 
first started to his mind.” This work, 
“ The Decline and Fall of the Roman 
Empire,” occupies a very high rank 
among English classics. It is the outcome 
of an extraordinary amount of research, 
and covers periods and fields of history 
with which few other writers have dealt, 
yielding us, within comparatively lim- 
ited space, a panoramic view of the his- 
tory of Europe and Asia for more than 
a thousand years. 

1809. Sir .John Moore was killed at the 
battle of Corunna, which took place on 
this day. He was a British general of 
renown, who had been sent into Spain to 
unite with the Spanish forces against the 
French. The Spaniards were defeated. 


EVERY DAY^S RECORD. 


155 


and the British forced to make a winter 
retreat, in which great suffering was ex- 
perienced. The death of their leader was 
commemorated by the poet Charles Wolfe 
in a beautiful elegy, “ The Burial of Sir 
John Moore,” which was pronounced by 
Byron the most perfect in the English 
language. 

1872. A general amnesty bill was 
passed by Congress, which formed the 
concluding act in the reconstruction of 
the Union after the war. 

tianuary IT* 

1781. The battle of the Cowpens was 
fought in South Carolina, in which Gen- 
eral Greene gained an important victory 
over the British, more than three hundred 
of whom were killed and wounded, and 
live hundred taken prisoners. A large 
quantity of arms and military stores was 
captured. 

1854. The Great Western Railroad of 
Canada was completed and opened for 
travel. It ran from Detroit to Niagara 
Falls. 

1863. Horace Yemet, a celebrated 
French painter of battle-scenes, died. He 
painted numerous pictures of battles, 
among the chief of which are the “ Siege 
of Constantine” and the “ Battle of 
Isly.” His pictures are of large dimen- 
sions, there being many of them in the 
Versailles galleries. One of his impor- 
tant pictures is the “ Meeting of Raphael 
with Michael Angelo.” At the 1855 Ex- 
position a jury of painters from various 
nations awarded him a grand medal of 
honor. 

1873. The Modoc Indians defeated the 
troops sent to expel them from their old 
possessions, to which they had returned 
from their reservation. Negotiations for a 
peaceful settlement were entered into, 
during which they treacherously massa- 
cred the United States commissioners. 
They retired to the “ lava-beds,” where 
they held out for a long time, but were 
eventually vanquished and their leader 
hung. 

1885. A fire broke out in the insane 
asylum at Kankakee, Illinois, resulting 
in the death of seventeen of the inmates. 

1885. A severe battle took place near 
Aboo Klea, in the Soudan, between the 
English force of fifteen hundred men 
under Sir Herbert Stewart, which was 
marching to the relief of Khartoum, and 
about ten thousand Arabs. The conflict 
was long and desperate, the Arabs break- 
ing the English square. It was reformed, 
however, and the assailants driven back, 
with nearly one thousand loss. Colonel 
Frederick Burnaby, author of “ Ride to 
Khiva” and other books of travel, was 
killed. 


•Taniiary 18. 

1873. Bulwer, one of the most volu- 
minous and versatile of English novelists, 
died, at sixtj'-seven years of age. He was 
made a baronet in 1838, and in 1866 was 
raised to the peerage as Baron Lytton. 
Bulwer was an active writer, and left a 
considerable number of novels, many of 
them marked by great ability, and of 
great variety of style and incident. One 
of the most popular of them is the classic 
study entitled “ The Last Days of Pom- 
peii.” In addition to his novels he wrote 
several extended poems, of no great merit, 
a liberal political pamphlet called “The 
Crisis,” which had immense success, and 
two plays whose popularity remains un- 
diminished, “ The Lady of Lyons” and 
“ Richelieu.” 

1879. E. P. Weston started to walk 
over England, with the design of accom- 
plishing two thousand miles in one thou- 
sand consecutive hours, Sundays ex- 
cepted. He failed by twenty-two and a 
half hours. 

1881. Extremely cold weather occurred 
in England, continuing from the 12th to 
the 18th. On the 14th the temperature 
in London fell to 10°. At Chester it 
reached 2° below zero. There was a 
severe snow-storm on the 17th, with a 
terrific gale of wind, the roads being 
snowed up. The cold spell was followed 
by another heavy snow-fall on the 19th, 
the severest experienced for years, by 
which all the railroads leading into 
London were made impassable. 

1884. The steamer City of Columbus 
was wrecked on the coast of Massachu- 
setts, ninety-seven lives being lost. 

1888. The Amu-Daria bridge, on the 
line of the Trans-Caspian railway between 
Merv and Bokhara, Asia, was first crossed 
by a train. This bridge is sixty-eight 
hundred and four feet long. It is one of 
the important links in that chain of rail- 
way communication which is opening up 
the long-sealed regions of central Asia to 
civilization. 

•Tanuary 19. 

1812. Wellington took Ciudad Rodrigo 
by storm from the French, during the 
Peninsular War against Napoleon. The 
story of this event is told in a most 
graphic and interesting manner in Lever’s 
“ Charles O’Malley.” 

1848. Gold was discovered in Cali- 
fornia at some time between this date and 
the 24th. James W. Marshall, who was 
erecting a saw-mill for a settler named 
Sutter, found in the bottom of the mill- 
race some yellow shining particles which 
proved to be gold. A feeble effort was 
made to keep this discovery secret, but it 
soon got abroad, and within three months 


156 


EVERY DAY'S RECORD. 


four thousand persons were digging suc- 
cessfully for gold. It was not long before 
gold-seekers were pouring into California 
by thousands, it proving one of the most 
prolific gold-fields ever discovered. 

1862. The battle of Mill Spring, Ken- 
tucky, was fought. General Thomas at- 
tacked here the Confederate force under 
General Zollicoffer, who was killed and 
his army severely punished. 

1884. A terrific cyclone blew over 
portions of Georgia and Alabama, causing 
great damage and loss of life. It is esti- 
mated that in the line of the storm three 
hundred persons were killed and five 
thousand houses wrecked. 

1885. A heavy fall of snow on the Alps 
was followed by the descent of an immense 
avalanche, which did serious injury. Two 
townships were completely desolated, and 
in two districts alone two hundred lives 
were estimated to be lost. 

•January 30. 

St. Agnes’ Eve. This date is observed 
as a period of divination by maidens who 
desire to gain knowledge of their future 
husbands. Various means to attain this 
desirable end are practised, with what suc- 
cess we are not prepared to say. These 
divining practices gave occasion to Keats’s 
beautiful poem of “ St. Agnes’ Eve,” 
which for harmony of versification and 
beauty of imagery has few equals in the 
English language. 

1779. David Garrick, one of the most 
eminent of English actors, died. He is said 
to have had remarkable power of imi- 
tating the facial expression of others and 
of indicating the various emotions. He 
did much towards driving the licentious 
drama of earlier years from the stage, and 
himself wrote numerous comedies, among 
them “ High Life Below-Stairs” and 
“The Clandestine Marriage.” 

1783. The first step was taken towards 
a treaty of peace between the United 
States and Great Britain by an agreement 
for the cessation of hostilities. On the 
11th of April Congress proclaimed that 
all hostile acts should cease, and on the 
3d of September following the treaty of 
peace was signed, thus ending the struggle 
for the independence of the U nited States. 

1838. This is spoken of as the coldest 
day that had been known in England 
during the century, the thermometer reg- 
istering 4° below zero at sunrise, a degree 
of cold that would not be considered in 
any way extraordinary in the Northern 
States of this country, though very un- 
usual for England. 

1852. The East River between New 
York and Brooklyn was frozen over, and 
a considerable number of people crossed 
on the ice. In 1780 New York harbor 


was frozen so firmly that teams crossed 
on the ice to Staten Island. In 1821 it 
was again frozen over. In 1856 the East 
River was similarly frozen, and in 1867 
was frozen on January 23 so firmly that, 
as was estimated, five thousand persons 
crossed on the ice. 

1854. The Tayleur, an emigrant-ship, 
was driven on the rocks oflf Lambay 
Island, north of Howth, England, and 
about three hundred and eighty persons 
perished in the sea. 

1883. A South Pacific Railroad train, 
from San Francisco to New York, when 
near the summit of the Sierra Nevada, 
began to back, and could not be stopped, 
the brakes failing to hold. The train ran 
down the track till a great speed was ac- 
quired, when it jumped an embankment. 
The wrecked cars caught fire, and nearly 
thirty persons were burned to death. 

1885. Severe avalanches descended on 
the province of Cuneo, Italy, devastating 
several villages, while many lives were 
lost beneath the snow. 

1886. The Mersey Tunnel under the 
river from Birkenhead to Liverpool was 
formally opened by the Prince of Wales. 
This tunnel was excavated through solid 
rock, many feet below the river-bed. It 
forms a brick-lined tube, twelve hundred 
and sixty feet long, twenty-six feet wide, 
and nineteen feet high. 

. •January 31. 

1793. Louis XVI. of France was exe- 
cuted by the guillotine on this day. He 
had been on the throne since 1774, and, 
though a man of probity and good inten- 
tions, he aided greatly by his weakness 
and vacillation in bringing on the revo- 
lution which so disastrously terminated 
his reign. He found the finances in great 
disorder, and they continued so in spite of 
every effort at reform, so that he was 
obliged to call a session of the Third 
Estate for the purpose of providing money 
to carry on the government. The parlia- 
ment quickly decided that other things 
besides the finances needed reforming, took 
the power in its own hands, and rapidly 
moved on from reform to revolution. 
Louis attempted to fly from France, was 
arrested, imprisoned, tried for treason, and 
executed, meeting his death with great 
calmness and fortitude. 

1859. Hallam, the historian, died. He 
was the author of several historical works 
of great value, comprising “ View of the 
State of Europe during the Middle Ages,” 
“ The Constitutional History of Eng- 
land,” and “ Introduction to the Litera- 
ture of Europe in the Fifteenth, Six- 
teenth, and Seventeenth Centuries.” All 
these works show deep research, and are 
indispensable to students of history. 


EVERY DAY^S RECORD. 


157 


1874. Parepa-Kosa, a distinguished 
singer and operatic actress, died. She was 
born in Edinburgh in 1836, and made 
her first appearance in opera at Malta, 
when sixteen j^’ears of age. She appeared 
in London in 1857, and afterwards sang 
for many yeai-s in the United States. Her 
voice had extraordinary compass and 
power, and in these respects has perhaps 
never been excelled. 

1886. An explosion of fire-damp in a 
coal-mine at Newburg, West Virginia, 
caused the death of thirty-nine miners. 

January 33. 

1720. The famous “ South Sea Bubble,” 
which was inaugurated by the formation 
of the South Sea Company for the 
purpose of speculative investments in 
Pacific island lands, received an impor- 
tant impetus by the favorable action of the 
House of Commons. * It attracted a vast 
quantity of capital, but was unwisely and 
in the end dishonestly managed, and ex- 
ploded in September, 1720, ruining thou- 
sands of families. The shares, originally 
one hundred pounds, had been raised to 
one thousand pounds, and nearly all the 
wealthy persons in England were inter- 
ested. The estates of the directors, to the 
value of two million pounds, were seized 
and sold. 

1873. The Northfleet, a vessel loaded 
with railroad-iron and railway-workmen 
for Tasmania, was run into by an un- 
known steamer off Dungeness and sunk, 
about three hundred lives being lost. The 
Murillo, a Spanish steamer which was 
supposed to have caused the disaster, was 
afterwards seized and sold, the officers 
being severely censured. 

January 33. 

1806. William Pitt, a celebrated Eng- 
lish statesman, died. He was the great- 
grandson of Thomas Pitt, who brought 
from India the famous Pitt diamond, after- 
wards esteemed the most precious of the 
crown jewels of France ; and son of the 
great Pitt, Earl of Chatham, who played 
such a leading part in English politics of 
the eighteenth century. He entered Par- 
liament at the age of twenty-two, became 
rime minister in 1783, and in 1784, when 
ut twenty-five years old, had become a 
national favorite and the most powerful 
subject in Europe. The first eight years 
of his administration were peaceful and 
prosperous, but then came the French 
Revolution and the Napoleonic wars, in 
which Pitt gained little credit by his 
management of the difficult interests com- 
mitted to his care. He was an orator of 
fine powers, and almost unequalled in his 
command of sarcasm. 

1856. The Pacific, a steamer of the 


Collins line, left Liverpool for New York, 
and was never afterwards heard of. It is 
supposed that she struck on an iceberg. 
There were in all one hundred and eighty- 
six persons on board. 

1886. The poor-house at Jackson, Mich- 
igan, was burned down during a very cold 
night, the temperature being 10° below 
zero. No water was to be had, in conse- 
quence of the cold, and forty of the in- 
mates (five of them being blind, deaf, or 
insane) were burned. Those that escaped 
were half dressed, and suffered terribly 
from the intense cold. 

January 34.. 

1870. The United States corvette 
Oneida was sunk by collision with the 
British Peninsular and Oriental steamer 
Bombay, near Yokohama, Japan, one 
hundred and twelve lives being lost. The 
captain of the Bombay was severely cen- 
sured and suspended for six months for 
not waiting to give succor. 

1884. An explosion of fir'e-damp in a 
Colorado mine caused the death of fifty- 
seven operatives. 

1885. A desperate attempt was made 
to blow up the English House of Parlia- 
ment and the Tower of London with 
dynamite. A suspicious package was seen 
by a constable in the crypt of Westmin- 
ster Hall, and picked up by him, but 
dropped before he reached the entrance. 
It exploded with a terrific report, tearing 
a hole six feet wide in the pavement and 
another in the roof of the hall. Another 
explosion took place a few minutes after- 
wards, the building being greatly dam- 
aged, and the western extremity of the 
House of Commons badly wrecked. 
About the same time an explosion oc- 
curred in the White Tower of the Tower 
of London, which injured sixteen per- 
sons, but did little damage to the build- 
ing. This was one of the boldest and 
best managed of the several efforts (sup- 
posed to be due to Irish revolutionists) 
to injure London by dynamite. The 
practical failure of all these efforts, and 
their lack of influence upon political 
action, speak unfavorably for the value of 
this destructive substance as a revolu- 
tionary agent. 

January 35. 

1327. Edward II., King of England, 
was deposed and imprisoned by an up- 
rising of the barons, with the queen at 
their head. Edward III., a minor, was 
proclaimed king, with the queen as re- 
gent. It is singular that this ruler, one 
of the weakest of English kings, was the 
son of one and the father of another of 
the most vigorous of English monarchs. 
His reign of twenty years was little 


158 


EVERY DAY^S RECORD. 


more than a wrangle between his worth- 
less favorites. His only warlike action 
was his invasion of Scotland, in 1314, 
with a large army, which was completely 
routed by Robert 13ruce at Bannockburn, 
and the independence of Scotland secured. 
Edward was murdered in prison, under 
circumstances of great atrocity, in 1327, 
the crime being charged on Roger de 
Mortimer, the queen’s hivorite. 

1791 . George Selwyn, one of the 
most famous of English wits, died. For 
a record of his life and witty sayings, 
see “ George Selwyn and his Contempo- 
raries,” by J. H. Jesse, 1843. 

1861 . The suit of Jerome Bonaparte 
to establish his legitimate rights as a re- 
versionary claimant to the French throne 
began. He was the son of Jerome Bona- 
arte, brother of Napoleon, and Eliza- 
eth Patterson, an American lady, whom 
he married December 24, 1803. This 
marriage was annulled, and Jerome after- 
wards married the princess Catherine of 
Wiirtemberg, their children being the 
prince Napoleon and the princess Ma- 
thilde. The effort of the younger Jerome 
to establish his legitimacy failed, his case 
being non-suited. 

January 30. 

1837 . Michigan was admitted as a 
State of the American Union. 

1850 . Francis, Lord Jeffrey, the dis- 
tinguished editor of the Edinburgh Re- 
view, died. This famous review was pro- 
jected by Sydney Smith, Lord Brougham, 
Jeffrey, and some others, the first num- 
ber appearing in October, 1803. -After 
the first three numbers, which were 
edited by Smith, Jeffrey became editor, 
and held the editorship for twenty- 
six years, and by his many caustic, 
though often unjust, criticisms brought 
the Review into great celebrity. Scott, 
Byron, Wordsworth, Coleridge, and 
Moore were among the distinguished 
authors who felt the sting of his severe 
pen. He was also a lawyer of great 
ability, and in fluent eloquence had no 
equal at the Scottish bar. 

1852 . The Forrest divorce case (Cath- 
erine N. Forrest against Edwin Forrest) 
was concluded, Mrs. Forrest gaining 
divorce and alimony. Forrest’s celeb- 
rity as an actor, and the scandals exposed 
in the conduct of the case, excited great 
public attention, and entitle it to rank 
with famous American trials. 

1859 . Daniel E. Sickles, a New York 
lawyer and member of Congress, killed 
Philip Barton Key for criminal inter- 
course with his wife. He was tried for 
murder and acquitted, with the approval 
of public sentiment. He became a 
major-general in the civil war, and lost a 


leg at Gettysburg. In 1869 he was ap- 
pointed American minister to Spain. 

1871 . George Ticknor, author of 
“ History of Spanish Literature,” died. 
-This work has been very highly eulo- 
gized, and takes rank among the ablest 
of histories of literature. 

1885 . General Gordon, who had ac- 
quired the pseudonyme of “ Chinese 
Gordon ” for his brilliant services in 
suppressing the Taeping rebellion in 
China, was killed at Khartoum. He had 
previously gained great influence over 
the native tribes of the Soudan, and in 
1884 went alone to Khartoum and took 
command of the Egyptian forces there. 
Here he was besieged by the Mahdi, an 
Arabian religious fanatic. The siege 
was continued for ten months, the English 
government making strenuous efforts to 
relieve Gordon from his dangerous situa- 
tion, which attempts the difliculty of 
leading an army across the desert ren- 
dered unavailing. A military expedition 
came within a mile of the city on Janu- 
ary 27, but only to And it in the hands 
of the Arabs. On the previous day a 
gate had been opened by a traitor within 
the city, and the Arabs swarmed in, 
killing all before them. The circum- 
stances of Gordon’s death were never 
clearly known, and many believed he 
had escaped, but there is no reason to 
accept any such theory. 

January 37. 

1649 . One of the most famous trials 
on record, that of 'Charles I. of England, 
ended on this day in his condemnation. 
The royal army had been defeated at 
Marston Moor in 1644 and at Naseby in 
1645, and in 1646 the king gave himself 
up to the Scottish army, which surren- 
dered him to the English Parliament in 
1647. The trial for treason began on 
January 20, 1649, and was concluded in 
a week. The execution immediately fol- 
lowed, Charles being beheaded on Jan- 
uary 30. He was a man by no means 
destitute of good qualities, but his deter- 
mined effort to subject England to abso- 
lute rule led to the revolt of his subjects, 
and the fall of the axe that beheaded him 
dealt a fatal blow to all hopes of absolute 
monarchy in England. 

1822 . The independence of Greece 
was proclaimed. The war for indepen- 
dence began in 1821, but was strongly and 
brutally contested by Turkey, and final 
success was not accomplished till 1829, 
when the Porte acknowledged Grecian 
independence. 

1851 . A fatal accident occurred on the 
Ohio River. The steamer John Adams 
struck on a snag and sunk immediately, 
carrying down one hundred and twenty- 


EVERY DAY^S RECORD. 


159 


three persons. On the same day of Jan- 
uary, 1871, the steamer H. K. Arthur 
exploded her boilers on the Mississippi, 
above Memphis. The boat caught tire, 
eighty-seven lives being lost in the double 
disaster. 

1851. Audubon, the most famous of 
American ornithologists, died in New 
York. lie was a native of Louisiana, 
having been born there of French parents 
in 1780. His passion for observing the 
habits of birds was early displayed, and 
about 1810 he began a series of solitary 
excursions through the primeval forests, 
which he continued for many years. The 
colored drawings of birds, which were the 
result of his explorations, formed the 
basis of a great work on ornithology, 
“The Birds of America,” whose publi- 
cation began in London in 1826, the 
price being fixed at one thousand dollars 
a copy. He afterwards published “ The 
Quadrupeds of North America.” The 
descriptive passages of these works are 
excellently written, and they rank among 
the greatest of monuments to science. 

January 38. 

814. Charlemagne, the greatest mon- 
arch of the “ dark ages” of European 
history, died at Aix-la-Chapelle, the cap- 
ital of the great kingdom he had formed. 
His life was one continued series of con- 
flicts with the semi-barbarous surround- 
ing peoples, which ended in his extend- 
ing his rule over Germany and northern 
Italy and in repressing the invasive pro- 
clivities of the Saracens of Spain. His 
empire was of enormous extent, and was 
governed throughout with a vigorous 
hand, he being as great in statesmanship 
as in war, and in every respect one of the 
most remarkable characters of history. 

1547. Henry YIII., one of the most 
famous kings of England, died. The 
events of his reign were calculated to give 
him an unusual prominence in history, 
in particular his divorce of his queen, 
Catherine of Aragon, and the summary 
manner in which he disposed of all who 
interfered with his purposes or his pleas- 
ures. The opposition of the Pope to 
this divorce was the main instigation to 
Henry’s cutting loose from Catholicism 
and establishing the Church of England. 
Of his six wives, two were divorced, two 
beheaded, one died a natural death, and 
the sixth outlived him. Henry, in his re- 
ligious revolution, was as bitter against 
those who went too far as against those 
who did not go far enough, and many 
Protestants who refused to conform to 
his proposed dogmas fell victims to his 
wrath. 

1807. Pall Mall, London, was lighted 
with gas, being the fii-st street in any city 


to be so illuminated. The slow progress 
which gas made in public estimation and 
thestrong opposition which it encountered 
are in singular contrast with the rapidity 
with which any great public improvement 
now makes its way throughout Christen- 
dom. 

1840. A disastrous fire broke out in 
South Street, New York, destroying pub- 
lic storehouses with twenty thousand 
chests of tea. The loss was estimated at 
one and a half millions of dollars. 

1859. William H. Prescott, a favorite 
American historian, died. Though nearly 
blind, he by undaunted perseverance 
made the necessary studies and wrote 
several histories of great literary merit 
and historical value, including the “Con- 
quest of Mexico,” “ Conquest of Peru,” 
“ History of Ferdinand and Isabella,” 
and “ History of the Reign of Philip II. 
of Spain,” which latter he did not live to 
complete. There is no instance on record 
of greater success in contending against 
depressing circumstances than in the 
story of his life. 

1868. A destructive fire broke out in 
Chicago, burning up an entire block, and 
parts of others, with a loss of three mil- 
lion dollars. It was the severest fire the 
city had experienced up to that time. 

1871. The city of Paris capitulated to 
the German army, thus ending the hope- 
less resistance which had been carried on 
in a desultory manner since the battle of 
Sedan. 

Jannary 30. 

i6g6. The Royal Sovereign, a hun- 
dred-gun ship, and a giant of the British 
navy at that period, took fire in the Med- 
way and was totally destroyed. 

1853. The marriage of Louis Napo- 
leon to Eugenie Marie de Montijo, Com- 
tesse de Teba, took place. Eugenie was 
of Spanish birth, and celebrated for her 
grace and beauty, and for many years 
ruled the world of fashion as imperi- 
ously as her husband did the realm of 
France. On the downfall of the empire 
she retired to England and took up her 
residence at Chiselhurst. 

Ja-nuary 30. 

1816. The Seahorse, a British trans- 
port, was wrecked near Tramore Bay, 
three hundred and sixty-five persons, 
mostly soldiers of the 69th regiment, 
being* drowned. On the same day of 
Januaiy in 1831, the Lady Sherbrooke, 
from Londonderry to Quebec, was 
wrecked near Cape Race, only thirty-two 
being saved of three hundred and five 
persons on board. 

1836. The trial of Fieschi for at- 
tempting the life of Louis Philippe 
began. This assassin had arranged what 


160 


EVERY DAY'S RECORD. 


has been called an infernal machine in 
a room overlooking the Boulevard du 
Temple, where the king and his sons 
were to review the imperial guard. It 
consisted, of twenty-five musket-barrels, 
heavily loaded, and arranged so as to 
sweep the street. They were fired simul- 
taneously by a train of gunpowder as the 
king and his train rode past. Louis es- 
caped with scarcely a scratch, but Mar- 
shal M ortier and other officers were shot 
dead, there being more than forty per- 
sons killed or injured. Pieschi was 
proved guilty and executed. 

1 86 1. Kansas was admitted as a State 
of the American Union, with a Consti- 
tution which prohibited slavery within 
its limits. The struggle between settlers 
and in the halls of Congress as to whether 
this territory should be admitted as a 
slave or a free State had disturbed the 
country'for several years, and civil war 
existed within its borders before it broke 
out in the country at large. 

1866. The steamer Miami exploded 
her boilers and sank in the Mississippi 
Kiver, one hundred and fifty lives being 
lost by the disaster. 

1877. The Electoral Tribunal to settle 
the disputed Presidential election of Hayes 
and Tilden was chosen in Congress. There 
was a controversy as to the electoral votes 
of Florida and Louisiana, and to one from 
Oregon, these being claimed by both 
parties, while difterence of opinion ex- 
isted as to the vote of South Carolina. 
Congress, finding itself unable to decide 
the dispute, appointed a commission com- 
posed of five Senators, five Representa- 
tives, and five Judges of the Supreme 
Court. The Commission decided by a 
majority of one that Congress was bound 
to accept the official returns as final, and 
in consequence Rutherford B. Hayes, the 
Republican candidate, was declared 
President. 

1885. An Australian railroad bridge, 
near the city of Sydney, New South 
Wales, gave way under a passing train, 
precipitating it into the ravine, with a 
loss of forty lives. 


jranuary 31. 

1655. Cromwell dissolved Parliament, 
and resolved to govern by himself. He 
bad dissolved the “Long Parliament” two 
years before, but called another which 
met in September, 1654. This body at 
once began business by questioning the 
validity of the power which had called 
it together, and occupied itself in inter- 
posing as many checks to CromwelPs in- 
fluence as it could. Its arbitrary dis- 
solution left him dictator of the kingdom. 
He called another Parliament, which met 
January 20, 1658, but with the same re- 
sult, and this body was dissolved on Feb- 
ruary 4. Cromwell’s sole rule, however, 
did not last long, as he died in the fol- 
lowing September. 

1788. Charles Edward Stuart, “ the 
Young Pretender,” died. He was a 
grandson of James II., whose son James 
Francis Edward, the first Pretender, had 
inherited a claim to the throne of Eng- 
land from his father. Failing in his 
efiforts to obtain it through the aid of 
Scottish partisans, he resigned his claim 
to his son Charles, who entered Scotland 
with a few attendants in July, 1745. An 
army of Highlanders was raised, which 
invaded England, but was totally de- 
feated at the battle of Culloden in April, 
1746. After many adventures, Charles 
escaped to France. The latter part of his 
life was spent at Rome, where he became 
very intemperate. His widow, the cele- 
brated Countess of Albany, afterwards 
married the Italian tragic poet Alfieri. 

1878. The steamer Metropolis, bound 
from Philadelphia to Brazil with a cargo 
of railroad-material, went ashore on the 
coast of North Carolina in a violent gale 
and was totally wrecked. Nearly one 
hundred lives were lost by this disaster. 

1885. An explosion of natural gas 
took place near Pittsburg, many persons 
being injured by the disaster. The in- 
odorous character of this gas renders it 
peculiarly liable to such explosions, there 
being no warning by odor of its escape 
as in the case of ordinary illuminating 
gas. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


161 


CURRENT NOTES. 


The hero of the popular song of ** Kobin Adair,” which is attributed to 
Lady Caroline Keppel, was Robert Adair, a surgeon (1710?-1790), well known in 
the London fashionable circles of the eighteenth century as the “Fortunate 
Irishman.” His detection in an early amour drove him from Dublin to London. 
On his way he fell in with a lady of fashion who had been slightly hurt in a 
runaway accident. He travelled with her in her carriage to London as surgical 
attendant, and on their arrival was presented with a fee of one hundred guineas 
and a general invitation to her house. There he met Lady Caroline Keppel, 
daughter of the second Earl of Albemarle, who, forgetting her high lineage, fell 
desperately in love with the Irish surgeon at first sight. The Albemarle family, 
dismayed at the prospect of such a mesalliance^ took Lady Caroline from London 
to Bath, and tried every means to make her forget her lover, but in vain. At 
last their opposition was withdrawn, and the couple were united. It was at Bath 
that Lady Caroline is said to have composed the words of “Robin Adair,” 
setting them to the plaintive Irish tune of “ Eileen Aroon,” which she had heard 
her lover sing. 

The original song of “ Eileen Aroon” is attributed to one Carol O’ Daly, an 
early Irish bard who flourished apparently before the tenth century. A Munster 
poet of the seventeenth century rewrote the words, and in this form it was trans- 
lated by John Anster and paraphrased by Gerald Griffin. It is in Griffin’s 
paraphrase that the song is known to this generation. 

The Celtic greeting “ Cead Mille Failthe” occurs for the first time in litera- 
ture in the concluding stanza of O’Daly’s poem. 

Three Thousand Dollars for Prize Stories. — ^The Detroit Free Press 
oflers cash prizes of $1600, $900, and $500 for the three best serial stories of sixty 
thousand words each, the largest prizes ever offered. 

In addition to its famous humorous and original features the Free Press will 
hereafter publish each week three serial stories written expressly for its 
columns by the best authors. 

“ Marooned,” a remarkable sea-story by W. Clark Russell, will begin the 
middle of November. 

The Free Press is a wonderfiil family paper. The price is $1.00 a year ; the 
address Detroit, Michigan. 

Pond’s Extract is used in the household of the President as well as that 
of the humblest citizen. Members of the army and the navy, the bar and the 
bench, the pulpit and the press, — all ranks and classes of people, — have sent 
their personal experience and thanks for the last forty years, until their letters 
have filled volumes, testifying to the wonderful cures* of all kinds of pain and 
inflammation effected by Pond’s Extract. Avoid imitations. 

VoL. XLIII.— 11 


162 


CURRENT NOTES. 


“ As round as Giotto’s 0” is a common proverb in Italy even to this day. 
Giotto’s reputation spread rapidly soon after he began to study with Cimabue, 
who had discovered him, a poor shepherd-lad, scratching drawings of his charges 
upon a flat stone, and had taken him home to instruct him. Pope Boniface 
VIII. invited young Giotto to Florence. The pope’s messenger, in order to 
make sure that he had found the right person, demanded some evidence of the 
artist’s skill. With one stroke Giotto drew a perfect circle, which satisfied the 
messenger that this was the great Giotto. “ Bounder than the O of Giotto” is a 
favorite hyperbole to indicate impossible perfection. 

The name Turnsole or Girasole (in Greek, HeKotropion ; in Latin, Sohe- 
quiura) has been given to the sunflower, the marigold, and other plants whoso 
flowers are compound and yellow and shaped like the sun, from a popular super- 
stition that during the whole day they turn their flowers towards the solar orb, — 
viz., to the east in the morning, to the south at noon, and to the west towards 
evening. Shakespeare tells us of 

The marigold that goes to bed with the sun. 

And with him rises weeping j 

and in old dictionaries this flower is called a heliotrope. It was its attribute 
of opening and shutting at the sun’s bidding which made it a favorite with the 
old writers on religious emblems, who used it as the emblem of constancy in 
affection and sympathy in joy and sorrow, but also of the fawning courtier, who 
can only shine when everything is bright. As the emblem of constancy it was 
eventually superseded by the sunflower. Thus, Moore says, — 

The sunflower turns on her god when he sets 
The same look which she turned when he rose. 

In Persia also and other Oriental lands the sunflower is the emblem of constancy, 
and Eastern poetry is full of allusions to the flower that always turns its face 
towards the sun. Among Christians it was dedicated to St. Bartholomew, St. 
Louis, and St. Antradis. In Peru, where the worship of the sun lingered till 
the Spaniards reached its shores, the consecrated virgins who oflSciated in the 
Temple of the Sun were crowned with sunflowers made of pure gold, carried 
them in their hands, and fastened their robes with them. In England, the first 
mention we have of the flower is from Gerard, in 1596, who tells us he had one 
in his garden. During the so-called aesthetic craze in London, the sunflower was 
a favorite with Oscar Wilde and his disciples, and took possession of the homes, 
the gardens, and the dress of the “ cultured.” 

“ According to Cocker,” and “ according to Gunter,” are slang expressions 
current in England and to a less extent in America, meaning “ according to the 
best authority or highest standard.” Edward Cocker, who died about 1675, had 
a great fame as a mathematician ; but the celebrated “ Cocker’s Arithmetic” was 
a forgery. It has been proved that Cocker had nothing whatever to do with this 
once vastly popular text-book which was published in his name. Edmund 
Gunter (1581-1626) was also a noted English mathematician. He invented 
Gunter’s chain, still used for measuring land ; Gunter’s scale (called by mariners 
“the Gunter”), much used in navigation; Gunter’s line, a sort of mechanical 
logarithmic table, a quadrant, etc. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


163 


Competent Judges, 

Who try Ayer’s Sarsaparilla, pronounce it to be the best blood- 
purifier ever made. Its success is as complete as was that 
of its manuf acturers in their recent controversy with the 

Dominion Customs authorities. 
It wins its way to popularity 
on the ground of merit. 

Ayer's Sarsaparilla 

is the standard specific for aU. 
diseases caused by impurity of 
the blood. It is compoimded 
from the most powerful veg- 
etable alteratives ; is highly 
concentrated and therefore eco- 
nomical to use ; and is especial- 
ly beneficial for the debilitated 
and feeble of both sexes. 

“Ayer’s Sarsaparilla has always been 
a great seller. My customers think there 
is no blood-murifier equal to it.” — L. M. 
Kobinson, Fharmacist, Sabina, Ohio. 

“I was sick twelve years with kidney 
disease and general debility, and treated 
by several physicians without relief, but 
having taken seven bottles of Ayer’s 
Sarsaparilla am now better in every re- 
spect, and think I am nearly well.” — 
M. Liidwigson, Albert Lea, Minn. 

*‘I was troubled with rheumatism so as to' be confined to the house, but 
Ayer’s Sarsaparilla effected a complete cure.” — A. E. Beed, South Boston, Mass. 

“Over twelve years ago a sore came on the shin-bone of one my legs. I 
applied simple remedies, at first, but the sore enlarged, and started in new 
places, until it reached from ankle to knee. Our best doctors, after several 
years’ experimenting, failed to benefit. Last fall it became much worse, giving 
ine no rest day or night. I was persuaded to try Ayer’s Sarsaparilla, and 
before I had used the fourth bottle my leg was entirely healed and is now as well 
as ever it was.” — Sydney Degolyer, Justice of the Peace, West Fort Ann, N. Y. 

Ayer’s Sarsaparilla, 

» 

PREPARED BY DR. J. C. AYER & CO., LOWELL, MASS. 

Sold by Druggists. .Price $1; six bottles, $5. Worth $5 a bottle. 





the effect produced by Ayer’s Clierry PectoraL 
BaillKw Colds, Coughs, Croup, and Sore Throat are, in most 

cases, immediately relievedhy the use of this wonderful remedy. It strengthens the vocal organs, 
allays irritation, and prevents the inroads of Consumption; in every stage of that dread disease, 

cougMngand induces refreshing rest. Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral 

Prepared by Ur. J. C. Ayer & Co., Uowell. IliCaas. Sold by all Uru^grlats, 


164 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Getting into a Scrape. — ^This phrase probably comes down to us from 
the days when England was still full of forests, and the deer running wild in the 
woods cut sharp gullies between the trees, called “ deer-scrapes,” which it was 
easier to fall into than to climb out of. Another suggested derivation takes the 
phrase from the driving of a ball at the game of golf into a rabbit-burrow or 
“ scrape.” 

The late John C. Lucas was not only a man of discernment and ability in 
the matter of new buildings, as witness that splendid monument to his artistic 
taste and judgment, the new Keystone National Bank, but his alert intelligence 
and keen business qualifications made him an excellent judge in all business 
transactions. 

He knew how to select a good insurance, company, when he had decided to 
place an insurance on his life, and exemplified the truth of this statement by 
taking out a policy in the Penn Mutual Life Insurance Company, which a short 
time ago paid to his family, as a death-loss, the sum of Twenty-Five Thousand 
Dollars. 

The Garden. — For the management of vegetable-gardens and practical 
instructions concerning the culture of flowers, for hints and information con- 
cerning all kinds of seeds, planting and cultivating all vegetables and flowers, 
D. M. Ferry & Co.’s Seed Annual for 1889 will be found as complete as any 
work of a similar character ever issued. The variety and extraordinary range 
of the information given render their Annual worthy the special attention 
of every one interested in having luscious vegetables or beautiful flowers. The 
Annual can be had for the asking. Address D. M. Ferry & Co., Detroit, 
Michigan. 

About the commencement of the new year the buildings Nos. 921, 923, and 
925 Chestnut Street will be numbered with the things that were, and their site will 
be occupied by the new and substantial edifice to be erected by the Penn 'Mutual 
Life Insurance Company. 

The proposed improvement will cover a frontage of eighty feet and extend 
in depth as far back as Chant Street. Not alone in dimensions but in architec- 
tural importance it will be an imposing structure, creditable alike to the city of 
Philadelphia and to the only purely mutual insurance company chartered by the 
State of Pennsylvania. 

Wings and Stings. — This is the airy, stinging title of another sprightly, 
amusing book by Palmer Cox. It is one of the Queer People Series, and 
similar to its companion “Paws and Claws,” recently published. This is 
one of the funniest and brightest books for youngsters we have ever seen. 
The illustrations are splendid, and will make the boys and girls roar with 
laughter. The Boston Budget says, “Aa a holiday book nothing could be more 
appropriate, since nothing could confer greater pleasure up^n the little ones” The 
National Republican says, “ Every page is a picture, and all the text music, a 
fountain of fun, never ceasing. It will make young eyes blaze.” It will certainly 
be wonderfully popular. It is published by Messrs. Hubbard Bros., qf Phila- 
delphia, Chicago, and Kansas City, to whom persons desiring a copy or an 
agency should apply. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


165 


Mothers, if your baby does not thrive, never change its food, but add five 
or more drops at each feeding of Murdock’s Liquid Food, and its lost or needed 
vitality will be restored in less than thirty days. 

It is invaluable when you are weaning the baby or when it is teething. If 
you will take one teaspoonful to a tablespoonful yourself before each meal and 
on retiring, you will receive as much benefit as the baby. 

To infants who are not regular, one of our Suppositories daily will give 
relief. They can be sent by mail, if not kept by your druggist. 35 cents a 
dozen. 

Adult Suppositories, $1.20 a dozen. 

Liquid Food and express paid, 12-ounce, $1.00. 

Liquid Food is the only raw-food preparation known, and is so recognized 
by the British Medical Association and the American Medical Association, before 
which essays were read and discussed by members, and is the only raw-food 
preparation on which essays were ever read before any national or State societies. 
B^“Send for essays.“^g 

It is made from the best of beeves, sheep, and fruits, free from insoluble 
matter, drugs, minerals, salts, and acids. Liquid Food and also our Supposi- 
tories are in daily use in our Free Surgical Hospital for Women, 114 beds, 
which is the largest one in the United States. We illustrate its value by the 
fact that during 1;he three or four summer months all surgical hospitals for 
women in the United States are closed, as it is not safe to operate, owing to the 
high rate of mortality. But Murdock’s Free Surgical Hospital for Women 
operated every day in the year for the last three years, and during the four 
summer months of this year operated on between 200 and 300 patients, with 
only one death, and for the year, 1278, with 17 deaths, showing that Liquid 
Food will cleanse and heal the system when burdened with disease so badly that 
operations have to be made to save the patient’s life. One lady gained, in six- 
teen weeks after her operations, 45 pounds ; another in six weeks 25 pounds, 
and another, with five operations, in thirty-one weeks 35 pounds, etc. 

To restore or improve the health of those sufiering from any disease, free of 
liability of loss or cost, the Murdock Liquid Food Company will refund the 
money to any person who receives no benefit from one twelve-ounce bottle of 
Liquid Food, if he will bring the empty bottle with bill of the druggist. 

This bold offer was never before made by any manufacturer in the world, 
and is now made to show that we have no desire to take money from those suffer- 
ing from disease, unless we can benefit them. 

$5000 REWARD. 

The above reward will be paid to any person who can prove that Murdock's 
Liquid Food contains^ or is made, or ever did contain or was made, from Hogs' 
Blood and Fish Albumen. • 

Murdock Liquid Food Co., Boston. 

In obedience to the demands of a rapidly-increasing business and the pro- 
gressive spirit of the times, the Penn Mutual Life Insurance Company will 
vacate, about January 1, its present offices, removing temporarily to 1008 and 
1010 Walnut Street, until the completion of the new building which it is about 
to erect on the site of its present location. 


166 


CURRENT NOTES. 


How time flies I About thirty years ago the building located at 921 Chestnut 
Street was purchased and occupied for the business of its Home' Office by the 
Penn Mutual Life Insurance Company. Each succeeding year since its occupa- 
tion has borne testimony to the healthy development and progress of the com- 
pany under wise and prudent management, until it stands to-day as one of the 
leading financial institutions of its kind in America. 

Quinine, so called from the native name quina, which the Peruvian abo- 
rigines gave both to the tree and its bark, has had a curious history. In the year 
1638, when the Count of Chinchon was Spanish Viceroy in Peru, his wife was 
cured of an attack of fever by the use of a tree-bark. It is said the medicine 
was recommended by the corregidor of Loxa, who had experienced its virtues 
eight years earlier. On her return to France in 1640 the lady took a lot of 
the bark with her, for the purpose of distributing it among the sick in her 
neighborhood. Hence tree and medicine have received the scientific name of 
Chinchona (now usually spelled Cinchona), which still clings to the thirty-one 
species of the tree, though the medicine is now more usually called quinine. 
For many years the bark-powder was also known to European druggists as the 
Countess’s Powder {Pulvis Comitessce) and as Jesuit’s bark. The Jesuits appear 
to have disseminated a knowledge of the virtues of the bark throughout Europe. 
But there is also a rival story that these virtues were first discovered by a Jesuit 
missionary in Peru, who, when prostrate with fever, was cured by the adminis- 
tration of the bark by a South American Indian. 

Little or nothing was scientifically known of the tree until 1739. La 
Condamine and Jussieu, then on an exploring expedition in South America, 
after not a little trial obtained plants for the Jardin des Plantes in Paris, but the 
whole collection perished in a storm at sea near the mouth of the Amazon. 
Another century passed before anything was done to introduce or naturalize the 
tree in Europe or in the Eastern dependencies of Britain, whence supplies might 
be assured ; and this notwithstanding the fact that the French chemists Pelletier 
and Caventou had in 1820 developed true quinine from the bark. The first cin- 
chona-trees raised in Europe were some calisaya-plants in the Jardin des Plantes 
in Paris, from seeds collected by Dr. Weddell in his first journey to Bolivia in 
1846. In 1849 an unsuccessful attempt was made to rear the plant in Algeria. 
In 1854 the Dutch government introduced it into the island of Java, where, after 
many vicissitudes, the cultivation of cinchona plantations is now quite prosperous. 
In 1860, after some unsuccessful private efforts, the East India Company fitted 
out an expedition to obtain young trees from South America, and as a result 
tiie government plantations in India now contain several millions. 

In modern usage, especially newspaper usage, the phrase amende honorable 
signifies a manly apology and acknowledgment of a fault, accompanied by such 
repargption as may be needed. But historically the amende honorable was a very 
different affair. It was in fact a disgraceful punishment, inflicted for the most 
part on offenders against public decency. The offender was stripped to his shirt, 
when the hangman put a rope about his neck and a taper in his hand, and then 
led him to the court, where the culprit asked pardon of God, of the king, and of 
the court. 

“ Paradoxes of a Philistine” is the title of a new book of essays by 
William S. Walsh, published by J. B. Lippincott Company. 





HE WOMAN 



ATH-LO-PHO-ROS 


WHO 


HIDES 


HER 

O E 

BECAUSE OF 

UGLINESS 

is often mistaken, be* 
cause, like beauty, it 
is only skin deep. 
Cure the diseased 
skin, and the ugli- 
ness will vanish. 

Athlo Extract is an invaluable article for all toilet pur- 
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Salt Rheum, Scrofula, Pimples, Blackheads, Chafing, Itch- 
ing, Loss of Hair, Dandruff, Offensive Odors of the Feet 
and under the Arms, Scaly and Pimply Diseases of the 
Skin. It also restores the healthy action of the skin, 
thus greatly adding to its beauty. One single trial will 
convince tlie most incredulous and prove the Athlo Ex- 
tract indispensable to the toilet. 

The eminent divine, the Rev. George E. Reed, late of 
Trinity Cliurch, Hanson Place, Brooklyn, writes : ‘ Learn- 
ing of the wonderful healing virtues of the Athlo Ex- 
tract FOR THE Toilet, I was induced to make a trial for 
myself. The results were most gratifying. I employed 
the extract as a Dentifrice and as a lotion for the entire 
body, in place of Alcohol or Bay Rum, and always with 
absolute satisfaction. Hereafter I mean never to be 
without it.” 

The Rev. Phebe A. Hanaford, of the Church of the 
Holy Spirit, New Haven, writes: ‘‘I find the Athlo Ex- 
tract to be invaluable in more ways than one. It is an 
admirable toilet article. I recommend it warmly to my 
friends who deem comfort necessary to health.” 

Ask your druggistfor a bottle. (Price, 75 cts.) If he 
does not keep it, order direct. 



.NO MORE RHEUMATISM FOR ME “ 


WHEREAS 

RESOLVED 

BECAUSE 


FOUR CENTS 


I have always been a firm disbeliever in 
Patent Medicines, probably because I had 
never seen direct results ; 

That I have seen rlirect results of your 
medicine and am now equally as Arm a be- 
liever in Athlophoros, 

Two years ago my wife could not get up- 
stairs except on hands and knees. She said 
Athlophoros cured her. Three dnys ago she 
could not place her foot on the ground, except in great agony, 
despite medical treatment. T'hi.s mnrningy having used 
Athlophoros two days, she is all right. 1 say Athlophoros 
cured her. She says — 

“God bless ATHLOPHOROS.” 

H. C. BOLMAR, Tiffin, Seneca Co., Ohio. 

External applications are a farce in Rheumatism and Neu- 
ralgia. The trouble lies deeper than the surface. Take Ath- 
L0-PH0-R03 internally It never fails. Thousands of testi-, 
inonials. Ask your druggist for a bottle ($1.00). If he does 
not keep it, order direct. 

We will send the best puzzle ever invented — superior to the famous ” Fifteen” game — to any address on 


receipt of four cents in stamps. It gives hundreds great amusement. The neatest thing out. 
THE ATH-LO-PHO-ROS CO., 112 WALL STREET, NEW YORK. 


Address 


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THE PERSONALITY OE PENN. 



When William Penn landed in America he was a compara- 
tively young man, about thirty-seven years of age. There is but 
one authentic portrait of him, and that one painted when he was 
scarcely more than twenty, after his return from a successful 
military expedition into Ireland. It represents him in armor. 
The painting of Penn’s Treaty, by Benjamin West, depicting the 
Founder of Pennsylvania as a man of sixty years, portly and 
Quakerish in garb, after the manner of the Friends of the artist’s 
time, is altogether erroneous, and yet this figure of Penn is the 
popularly accepted ideal of the man. 

The Penn Mutual Life Insurance Company of Phila- 
delphia commissioned a Philadelphia sculptor, G. Frank 
Stephens, to model a statue of William Penn from authentic 
data as to his age, presence, and costume. It has been com- 
pleted, and will shortly be on exhibition. 

For the purpose of placing in the hands of those who may 
desire it a correct representation of the man as he was, a fine 
cabinet photograph, with historical data, will be sent on receipt of 
ten cents in postage-stamps (less than cost) by 

The Penn Mutual 
Life Insurance Company, 

Philadelphia, Penna. 


2 






M 


OUR 

ANUAL OF 


E 


VERYTHINC 

FOR THE 


GARDEN 



For 1889 is the handsomest and most com- 
plete Garden Guide ever published. It is 
really a book of 140 pages, size 9 x 11 inches, 
contains three colored plates and illus- 
trations of all that is new, useful, and rare in 
Vegetables, Flowers, Frnlls, and 
Plants, with plain directions “How to 


t/€t 

grow them,” by 

This Manual we mail to any address on re- 
ceipt of 25 cents (in stamps). To all so 
remitting 25 cents for the IManual, we will at 
the same time send free by mail, in addi- 
tion, their choice of any one of the following 
Splendid Xovelties, most of which are 
now offered for the first time, and the price 
of any one of which is 25 cents: One packet 
of the new Autumn King Cabbage, or 
one packet of the new Yosemite Mam- 
moth Wax Bean, or one packet of the 
new Belmonieo Musk Melon, or one 
packet new Giant Pansy, or one packet 
new Scarlet Triumph Asters, or one 
packet Sunflower “Silver and Gold,” or one plant of the climber Blue Bawn Flower, or one 
plant of the White Moonflower, or one Bermuda Faster Fily (see illustration) — on the dis- 
tinct understanding, however, that those ordering will state in what paper they saw this adver- 
tisement. 


BERMUDA* EASTER LILY. 


PETER HENDERSON & CO. ‘.’If S ’’ 


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WORLD 


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Single Case, $10.00; Double Case (Writes 
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CATALOGUES FREE. AGENTS WANTED. 



YGEIAjH^OWL 








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year ; accommodates 1000 guests ; admirable 
location; delightful climate; thrilling his- 
toric surroundings. Turkish, Russian, Ro- 
man, Electric, and HOT SEA Baths, the 
latter especially beneficial in rheumatic 
troubles. Music by the famous Artillery 
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Average temperature for winter, 48 degrees. 
Absolutely free from malaria. 

All things considered, the most comfortable 
and delightful resort at which to spend the 
winter months in the United States. 


Typewriter Department, Pope Manufacturing 
('o., 79 Franklin Street, Boston; 12 Warren Street, 
New York; 291 Wnba.sh Avenue, Chicago. 


Send for Descriptive Pamphlet. 

F. N. PIKE, Manager. 


8 





PUBLICATIONS 

p-yT;app ^3ry 7:n=x7:jprppry 



A RARE AND LIBERAL OFFER. 

TABLfE TALK free for one year to LIPPINCOTT subscribers. 


What "Table Talk” Is. 

Table Talk is a 64-page magazine, edited by 
Mrs. S. T. Rorer, Principal Philadelphia Cook- 
ing School, Tillie May Forney, and Joseph 
Whitton. 

Its purpose is to improve, assist, and entertain 
the entire household, and it has special refer- 
ence to the TABLE— to its luxuries, its dainties, 
its fashions, its decorations, and its economies 
It aims to lighten the labor of all housewives, 
and, so far as possible, make a pleasure of what is 
frequently considered drudgery. The “House- 
keeper’s Inquiry Department” is for the use of 
subscribers to ob- 
tain from Mrs. 

Rorer, without 
cost, any desired 
information about 
the household, 
while the care- 
fully-prepared 
menus for every 
meal during the 
month are now 
being followed by 
many grateful 
households. 


C 

H 

R 

I 

S 

T 

M 

A 

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ORDER THE 

CHRISTMilS 

NUMBER. 


10c. PER COPY. 
$ 1 *SPEB YEAR. 


OffiCI 

^01. «04 k 4&6 Rie« StrMfi 


Contents of 
Christmas Number. 

It will pay every- 
body to secure, at 
least, the Christ- 
mas issue of Ta- 
ble Talk. In it 
Mrs. Rorer fur- 
nishes a dainty 
and elaborate 
“Christmas Din- 
ner;” Mrs. Rus- 
KiNS suggests “In- 
expensive but Ac- 
ceptable Christ- 
mas Gifts Bella 
Blanchard* de- 
sciUbes tasty and cheery “Christmas Decora- 
tiCnis;” Wm. Struthers gives pen-pictures of 
“Christmas in Foreign Lands;” Joseph Whit- 
ton takes the reader on a fanciful “Christmas 
Ramble in the Land of Nuts;” Arthur Maxwell 
contributes one of his entertaining “Christmas 
Stories; Epicurus gives helpful and economical 
suggestions to housewives in “Christmas Gro- 
cery Hints;” the Puzzle Man offers a “ Christmas 
Problem” to be solved and a prize to all who solve 
it. Mrs. Rorer continues her “ How to Live on a 
Thousand a Year,” and her daily m^nws; Tillie 
May Forney describes the latek “Fashionable 
Luncheon and Tea Toilets;” Kate Cathkr- 
wooD, the newest “ Fashionable Fads or Crazes;” 
Emma S. Stillwell records the progre.ss of “ Wo- 
man’s Exchanges;” and Table Talk offers all the 
leading magazines at nearly 'IQ per cent, discount. 



What the Press say about ‘ Fable Talk.” 

The New York Herald says : 

“This bright little magazine will be especially valuable 
to housekeepers, for it contains many hints as to what to 
do. . . . Mrs. Rorer gives a set of new viejitm which should 
answer the persistent, enraging question as to what coining 
meals shall be made of. ‘Culinary Economies’ will 
teach many young housekeepers to make apiietizing dishes 
of bits that servants will throw away if not watched 
‘New and Seasonable Recipes’ will teach some families to 
escape from their usual table routine. Indeed, there is 
more good and praetieal advice than the mistress of a 
house can act upon before the month ends." 

Ctirietiari Standard, Cincinnati, Ohio, says: 

“Table Talk has its Literary, Household, Culinary, 
and Miscellaneous departments filled with matter appro- 
priate to each. ’Tis an excellent family magazine.” 

The’ Philadelphia Ledger says: 

“ Table Talk is good, and suggestive of good things and 

practical economy.” 

The ■ Boston Repuh 
lie says: 

“Table Talk sus- 
tains the reputation 
which this family pe- 
riodical has gained as 
a useful and enter- 
taining publication.” 

The Spectator, Ne»c 
York City, says : 

“The bright, inter- 
esting, clean, Quaker 
City publication. Ta- 
ble Talk, is one of 
the half-dozen or so 
of American maga- 
zines which deserve 
cordial recognition,” 


Bright, 

Cheery, 

Helpful 

Christmas 

Number. 


ORDER THE 

CHRISTMAS 

NUMBER. 


jloo5e|old • Topics 


I^UBLISHED MONTHLY BY 


Table Talk Publishing Co.. 


PHILADELPHIA. PA. 


C 

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Free to Lippincott 
Subscribers. 
Table Talk is 
intended for Pi-o- 
gressive mothers. 
Progressive daugh- 
ters, Progr essive 
households. It is in 
hearty sympathy 
with all who be- 
lieve that the dear- 
est spot in all the 
world should be 
HOME, and that 
HOME should be 
made as comfort- 
able, as attractive, 
and as lovely as the means and intelligence of 
those occupying it will permit. We believe that 
many of these Progressive Polks intend to sub- 
scribe for the valuable publication, Lippincott’s 
Magazine, and that many more should subscribe 
who have not yet decided to do so. Table Talk 
wants to pay its monthly visits to all of these 
people, and we have therefore arranged to send 
Table Talk FREE for one year to all who send 
their subscriptions for Lippincott’s Magazine, 
accompanied by the regular subscription price, 
$3.00, to 

TABLE TALK PUBLISHING CO., 

402, 404, 406 Race Street, 

Philadelphia, Pa. 


Regular price of Table Talk, $1.00 per year. Christmas number mailed to any address on receipt of 10c. 
Address all communications to TABLE TALK PUBLISHING CO., 402, 404, 406 Race St., Pliiladelphia. 

4 



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Send for illustrated catalogue and price-list to 

IRELAND-BENEDICT CO., Ltd., j 

Sole Agents, 

BirtfGHAlHXO^, Y. 


JOHN ROGERS, 

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WM. D. ROGERS, SON & CO., 


Coach Builders 

Harness Makers, 


1007, 1009, and 1011 Chestnut St., 

PHILA^DELPHIA.. 

O / 




BOOKS 

Lj ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ FrF^?a7x, =>^H5 HHH g;g:HHS^HH gSHHSEZ5HH5^ 



ExcQlIenI Nqv Book^. 


Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent Discoveries. 

By Rodolfo Lanciani, Professor of Topography in the University of Rome, and 
Director of the Roman Museum. With 100 Illustrations. One volume, 8vo, very 
tastefully bound, $6.00. 

“At last has appeared the great work on Ancient Rome for which the world has lon^ been waiting. 
It contains the official, authenticated account of nearly twenty years of digging and discovery in the 
Eternal City. Its author is the man who conducted the explorations. Both the Italian Government and 
the Municipality of Rome chose him as the most competent person for the discharge of this important 
dutv. He was admirably fitted for it by his .studies, his enthusiasm, his industry. And now he has shown 
a still rarer capacity in telling the tale of his achievements.”— iVew York Journal of Commerce. 


Whittier's Poeticai Works. 

1 

New Riverside Edition., from entirely new 
plates. With Notes by Mr. Whittier, 
and Portraits. In four volumes, crown 
8vo, uniform with the Riverside Edition 
of Longfellow’s Works. Cloth, $6.00; j 
half calf, $11.00; half levant, $16.00. 


The Courtship of Miles Standish 

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
A Holiday volume, including numerous 
illustrations by Geo. H. Boughton, F. T. 
Merrill, and others. In a handsome 
quarto volume, cloth, handsomely stamped, 
$6.00 ; full levant, $12.00. 


Poems of Emma Lazarus. 

With a Biographical Sketch and Portrait. Two volumes, 16mo, gilt top, $2.50. 

The poems produced by Miss Lazarus under the inspiration of her grief and indignation over the 
persecution of the Hebrews in Russia and elsewhere are quite remarkable, and give her a distinctive 
position amon^ the poets of America. Taken as a whole, the poems in these volumes are much above 
the average of American verse, and cannot fail to be very heartily welcomed both for their intrinsic 
merits and as a memorial of an unusually gifted and noble spirit. 


The Critical Period of American 
History, 1783-1789. 

By John Fiske. Crown 8vo, $2.00. 

“An admirable book .” — New York Times. 

Young Sir Henry Vane. 

By J AMES K. Hosmer, author of “ Samuel 
Adams” in the series of American States- 
men. With a portrait of Vane, plans of 
the Battles of Marston Moor and Naseby, 
a facsimile, etc. 8vo, gilt top, $4.00. 

“ The best and most enlightened biography extant 
of a singularly interesting figure in a singularly 
interesting era .’^’ — 'The Churchman (New York). 


The Life of Delia Bacon. 

By Theodore Bacon. With a Portrait. 

In one volume, 8vo, $2.00. 

The story of a remarkable woman, including 
many letters by Hawthorne, Carlyle, Emerson, and 
others. 


John Ward, Preacher. 

A Novel by Margaret Deland, author 

of “The Old Garden and Other Poems.” 

Twentieth Thousand. 12mo, $1.50. 

^ “A remarkable book ... of much more than 
common power. . . . The picture of all these figures 
is painted with a delicacy that implies no ordinary 
! talent.” — TAc .Spectator ( London . 


The Soul of the Far East. 

By Percival Lowell, author of “Choson,” etc. In unique binding. One volume, 
16md^ $1 25. 

Mr. Lowell spent several years in Eastern A.sia, Japan, and Corea, and in this book he presents a 
thoughtful and impressive view of the people of those nations, their language, art, religion, and imagina- 
tion, their views of life, and the method of their mental operations, so unlike, in very important respects, 
to people of the West. 

*** For sale by all Booksellers. Sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO., Boston. 



BOOKS 



New Holiday Books. 

NIMS & KNIGHT, Publishers, 

TROY, N. y. 


Through David’s Kealm. A book of Holy Laud 
Travel. By Rev. E. S. Deli. Tompkins. With over 
200 illustrations of Palestine scenery from sketches 
by the author. The numerous illustrations to this 
book are very cleverly drawn, comprising land- 
scapes, figures, street scenes, architecture, etc. 
Thev will be reproduced by a similar process to that 
used in Daudet’s “ Tartarin on the Alps,” and, with 
a new and novel style of.binding, cannot fail to 
prove one of the most attractive books of the year. 
1 voL, 12mo, cloth, 82.50. 

P’rom Queens’ Gardens. Selected poems of Mrs. 
Browning, Jean Ingelow, Adelaide Procter, Chris- 
tina Rossetti, and others. Edited by Rose Porter. 
1 vol., square 16mo, cloth gilt, gilt edges, 81.25. 1 
vol., square 16mo, full calf or seal, flexible, round 
corners, gilt edges, 82.25, 

Staff and Scrip. Gems of Heligious Thought. 
Selected by J. H. Gilbert. 1 vol., square 16mo, cloth 
gilt, gilt edges, 81.25. 1vol., square 16mo, full calf 
or seal, flexible, round corners, gilt edges, 82.25. 

King of the Night. By Barry Cornwall. Illus- 
trated with fifteen full-page illastrations by C. E. 
Phillips. Printed on superfine toned plate paper. 

Echo and the Perry. By Jean Ingelow. Illus- 
trated by C. E. Phillips, Holiday edition. Printed 
on superfine toned plate paper, from entirely new 
plates. 

The Two Voices. Poems of the mountains and 
the sea. Edited by John W. Chadwick, author of 
“ A Book of Poems.’ With twelve illustrations. 

The above three books in the following styles of binding : 
Tinted torchon board, photogravure medallion, and 

title in blended bronzes on side, tied with chenille, 

■81.25. Full American seal, flexible, gilt edges, 81.75. 

Full fancy embossed leather, gilt edges, 82.00. 

For sale by all booksellers, or mailed, post-paid, on 
receipt of price. 

Cold Weather Music Books. 


The chill winter winds, the whirling withered 
leaves that tap against the window pane, harmonize 
well with the sweet music and the cheerful songs 
that are to make homes attractive. With your fuel, 
bring in a goodly quantity of our bright 

NEW MUSIC BOOKS. 

These new books are every day more in favor ; 

Classical Pianist, Piano Classics, Song 
Classics, Song Classics for Low Voices, 
Classic Tenor Songs, Classic Baritone 
and Bass Songs. £^ach, 81. 

Praise in Song (40 cts., 84.20 per doz.) is the 
best new Sacred Music Book for home and vestry 
singing. 

Let the Children Sing from Menard’s 8ong.n 
for Kindergarten and Primary Schools^ (30 
cts.), or Jenks’s Songs and Games for Itiftle 
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83,60 per doz.). All have very sweet child’s songs. 

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evening Singing Class to use Song Harmony (60 
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sacred and secular. Song Mnnttalf Book3{b0 
cts., 84.80 per doz.), is also a good collection, mostly 
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Tell the Temperance People that no bet- 
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Bells of Victory (35 cts,, 83.60 per doz.). 


ANY BOOK MAILED FOR RETAIL PRICE. 


OLIVER DITSON & CO., Boston. 

C. H. Ditson & Co., J. E. Ditson & Co., 

367 Broadway, New York. 1228 Chestnut St., Philo. 


Goodyear’s History of Art. 

A HISTORY OF ART. By Wm. Henry 
Goodyear, lately Curator of the Metropol- 
j itan Museum of Art, and present Lecturer 
I by appointment in the Cooper Institute, 
N.Y. Crown 8vo. Cloth. 217 Illustra- 
tions. Price, post-paid, $3.50. 

A text-book on architecture, sculpture, and paint- 
ing for schools and academies. Nothing so complete 
and satisfa’atory has heretofore been offered to teach- 
ers of art in this country. It would also be a desir- 
able addition to every school library and every 
private and public library. 

Hale’S Lights of Two Centuries. 

Fifty Brief Biographical Sketches, with 
Portraits of Distinguished and Successful 
Artists, Sculptors, Poets, and Scientists 
Edited by Edward Everett Hale, D.D. 
One volume. Cloth. Price, $1.75. 

This book has been widely sought by reading 
circles, and is in its 15ih thousand. It is written in 
Mr. Hale’s most attractive style, and is one of the 
most useful books he has written. It is handsomely 
printed and bound, and serves as an appropriate 
gift-book. 

Huntington’s Manual of Fine Arts. 

A TEXT-BOOK FOR SCHOOLS. Edited 
by D. Huntington, President of the Na- 
tional Academy. 12mo. Cloth. Price, 
post-paid, $1.00. 

Hamer ton’s Atlas Essays. 

1. Practical Work in Art. Paper. 35 cts. 

2. Modern Schools of Art. Paper. 30 cts. 

By Philip Gilbert Hamerton. 

Any of the above books sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of 
price, by the Publishers, 

A. S. BARNES & CO., Ill and 113 William St., N.Y. 


WOMAN’S KINGDOM! 


A SERIAL FOR WOMEN BY 1 Subscription 
“Jenny June” (Mrs. J. C. Croly),/ Price, $2.00. 

T he popular magazine writer of world-wide repu- 
tation. For the year 1889 in the pages of the 
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It fills a field which has never yet been occupied, and promises many a 
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P U B L. I C K T I O N S 

LITTELL’S LIVING AGE. 



I N 1889 THE LIVING AGE enters upon its forty-sixth year. Ap- 
proved in the outset by Judge Story, Chancellor Kent, President 
Adams, historians Sparks, Prescott, Ticknor, Bancroft, and many others, 
it has met with constant commendation and success. 

A WEEKLY MAGAZINE, it gi\’es fifty-two numbers of sixty-four 
pages each, or more than Three and a Quarter Thousand double- 
column octavo pages of reading-matter yearly. It presents in an inexpen- 
sive form, considering its great amount of matter, with freshness, owing 
to its weekly issue, and with a completeness nowhere else attempted. 

The best Essays, Reviews, Criticisms, Tales, Sketches of Travel and Discovery, Poetry, Scientific, 
Biographical, Historical, and Political Information, from the entire body 
of Foreign Periodical Literature, and from the pens of 

Tlio I’oi'oxia.oist: Xjixrxxxg; TTVritenst- 



The ablest and most cultivated intellects, in every department of Literature, 
Science, Politics, and Art, find expression in the Periodical Literature of Europe, and 
especially of Great Britain. 

The Living Age, forming four large volumes a year, furnishes from the great 
and generally inaccessible mass of this literature the only compilation that, while within 
the reach of all, is satisfactory in the COMPLETENESS with which it embraces whatever 
is of immediate interest, or of solid, jjermanent value. 

It is therefore indispensable to every one who wishes to keep pace with the 
events or intellectual progress of the time, or to cultivate in himself or his family general 
intelligence and literary taste. 

oi»i3xrio3xns. 


‘No man who understands the worth and value of 
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“It is a living p'cture of the age on Its literary side. 

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the literature of the times who reads The Living Age.” 

— Zion’s Herald, Boston. 

“ Perennial in its attractions for the intelligent reader. 

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ion, that cannot be found in it. It is a library in it- 
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— The Churchman , New York 

“ KcpletP with all the treasures of the best current 
thought, the best fiction, and the best poetry of the 
day. . It stands unrivalled.”— ?’/iePre56j/fm'an,P/u7a. 

“The more valuable to a man, the longer he takes it. 
lie comes to feel that he cannot live without it.”— 
New- York Evangelist. 

“Years of .acquaintance with its weekly Issues have 
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and importitnee in an age when knowledge has increased 
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made possible for the busy man to know something of 
what is going on with ever increa-sing activity in the 
world of letters. Without such help he is lost.”— ./Fpis- 
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Informed in current literature as by the perusal of a 
long list of monthlies.”— P/ij7ade/p/na Inquirer. 

•‘The readers miss v’ery little that is important in the 
periodical domain.” — Bostoii Journal. 

Published NVekkiy at $8.00 a year,/ree 


“ One of the few periodicals worth keeping In a libra/- 
ry. . It maintains its leading position in spite of the 
multitude of aspirants for public i&\or."— New- York 
Observer. 

“ Its value can hardly be reckoned in dollars and 
cents. . A repository of the best thought of the best 
writers of our day aud generation.”— Com- 
monwealth. 

“ Biography, fiction, science, crltici.sm, hlstorv, poetry, 
travels, whatever men are interested in, all are found 
here.” — The Watchman, Boston. 

“ It may be truthfully and cordially said that it never 
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“ It saves much labor for busy people who wish to 
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the day.”— The Advance, Chicago. 

“ Still holds its foremost place.”— Troy Times. 

“Continually increases in Yaiue.”— Every Evening, 
Wilmington, Del. 

“ It furnishes a complete compilation of an indis- 
pensable literature.”- Chicago Evening Journal. 

“ Recent numbers show tl e wide range of thought 
and careful discrimination of editorship which have so 
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“ It enables its readers to keep fully abreast of the 
best thought aud literature of civilization.” — Christian 
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“ In this weekly magazine the reader finds all that is 
worth knowing in the realm of current literature. . As 
a weekly record of the literary and scientific progress of 
the age it is indispensable.^’ — Canada Presbyterian, 
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“ Rarely, indeed, will the seeker of what is most note- 
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wliile yet fresh, the productions of the foremost, writers 
of the day. It is a reflection, as its name implies, of 
the best life and thought of the aue, and as such is 
indispen8.Tble to all who would keep abreast of our 
manifold progress. It is absolutely without a rival,” 
—Montreal Gazette. 

of pontage. 


5^“TO NEW SUBSCRIBERS for the year 1889, reiriitting before Jan. 1, the 
weekW numbers of 1888 issued after the receipt of their subscriptions, will be sent gratis. 

CLUB PRICES FOR THE BEST HOME AND FOREIGN LITERATURE. 

•■"Possessed of Littell’s Living Age, and of one or other of onr vivacious American monthlies, a sub- 
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For $10.50, The Living Age and any one of the fovr-dollar monthly maprazines (or 
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Address LITTELL & CO., 31 Bedford Ft., Bostou. 


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BAF.RY LYNDON : A Little Dinner at Tim- 
mins’s. 1 vol. 

THE NEWCOMES. 2 vols. 

THE HISTORY OF HENRY ESMOND. 1 vol. 
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THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 2 vols. 
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REPRINTED PIECES. 1vol. 
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OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. 2 vols. 

LITTLE DORRIT. 2 vols. 

A TALE OF TWO CITIES. 1 vol. 

DOMBEY & SON 2 vols. 

A CHILD’S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 1 vol. 
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EDWIN DROOD AND MISCELLANIES. 1 vol. 
AMERICAN NOTES, Etc. 1 vol. 


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PICKWICK PAPERS. 2 vols. 
CHRISTMAS STORIES. 1vol. 
SKETCHES BY BOZ. 1 vol. 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 2 vols. 
GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 1 vol. 
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11 





A Complete American Novel in every Number. 

•f 


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MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 

PRICE, CENTS. 

The complete ttovels tvhich have alveady ayiteared, five: 

No. 253—“ HALE- WESTON.” By M. Elliot Seawell. 

No. 252— “DUNRAVEN RANCH.” By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

No. 251— “EARTHLINGS.” By Grace King. 

No. 250— “aUEEN Of SPADES,” and Autobiography. By E. P. Roe. 

No. 249— “HEROD AND MARIAMNE.” A Tragedy. By Amelie Rives. 

No. 248— “ MAMMON.” By Maud Howe. 

No. 247— “THE YELLOW SNAKE.” By Wm. Henry Bishop. 

No. 246— “BEAUTIFUL MRS. THORNDYKE.” By Mrs. Poultney Bigelow. 

No. 245— “THE OLD ADAM.” By H. H. Boyesen. 

No. 244— “THE aUICK OR THE DEAD ?” By Amelie Rives. 

No. 243— “HONORED IN THE BREACH.” By Julia Magruder. 

No. 242— “THE SPELL OF HOME.” After the German of E. Werner. By Mrs. 
A. L. Wister. 

No. 241— “CHECK AND COUNTER-CHECK.” By Brander Matthews and George 
H. Jessop. 

No. 240 — “ FROM THE RANKS.” By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

No. 239—“ THE TERRA-COTTA BUST.” By Virginia W. Johnson. 

No. 238— “APPLE SEED AND BRIER THORN.” By Louise Stockton. 

No. 237— “THE RED MOUNTAIN MINES.” By Lew Vanderpoole. 

No. 236— “A LAND OF LOVE.” By Sidney Luska. 

No. 235 — “AT ANCHOR.” By Miss Julia Magruder. 

No. 234— “THE WHISTLING BUOY.” By Charles Barnard. 

No. 233 — “THE DESERTER.” By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

No. 232— “DOUGLAS DUANE.” By Edgar Fawcett. 

No. 231— “KENYON’S WIFE.” By Lucy C. Lillie. 

No. 230—“ A SELF-MADE MAN.” By M. G. McClelland. 

Nor 229 — “ SINFIRE.” By Julian Hawthorne. 

No. 228 — “MISS DEFARGE.” By Frances Hodgson Burnett. 

No. 227— “BRUETON’S BAYOU.” By John Habberton. 

BACK NUMBERS ALWAYS ON HAND. 


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aHHgaPJa-rJ jiaaa s rpT rp i v r aTiTi aro BaK'pSI 



"Xhe QwL’S ]\[est. 

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From the German of E. Marlitt. i2mo. Cloth. $1.25. 

“It has the same elements of strength and interest, the same effective blending of the subjects of 
romance with the methods of realism, that we find in all the novels of this author, coming through the 
hands of this translator.’’— iS". 1'. American Bookseller. 

“Contains the minute delicacy and graphic simplicity of all of Marlitt’s stories, and is gracefully 
translated by Mrs. Wister.’’— A' 1’. Indepehdent. 

“To translate a German novel into good English, and make it acceptable to American readers, is no 
light task; very few siicceed in it. We must give Mrs. Wister the praise of doing it admirably in ‘The 
Owl’s Nest.”’— iras/mir/to?/, Public Opinion. 

“ The book is as sweet and wliolesome as all its predecessors .” — Boston Globe. 

“ A skilful and delicate piece of work, full of a hajjpy flow and energy, and graceftil in its descrip- 
tions and conversations.”— P/uVa(/.e/p/i/a American. 

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is because she improves upon the originals. ‘ The Owl’s Nest’ is a charming story .” — Philadelphia Press. 

“ One of the best stories Mrs. Wister has translated for some yeais. It has all the .sentimental qualities 
dear to the German heart, and much of the esprit demanded by American taste. The moral is excellent, 
inculcating the precept that girls mast seem as well as be irreproachable in behavior.” — Phila. Ledger. 


OTHER TRANSLATIONS. 

PICKED UP IN THE STREETS. By Schobert 

SAINT MICHAEL. By Werner 

VIOLETTA. By Manteuffel 

LADY WITH THE RUBIES. By Marlitt 

VAIN FOREBODINGS. By Oswald 

A PENNILESS GIRL. By Heimburg 

QUICKSANDS. By Streckfuss 

BANNED AND BLESSED. By Werner 

A NOBLE NAME. By Glumer 

FROM HAND TO HAND. By Raimund 

SEVERA. By Hartner 

THE EICHHOFS. By Reichenbach 

A NEW RACE. By Raimund 

CASTLE HOHENWALD. By Streckfuss 

MARGARETHE. By Juncker 

TOO RICH. By Streckfuss 

A FAMILY FEUD. By Harder 

THE GREEN GATE. By Wichert 

ONLY A GIRL. By Hillern 

WHY DID HE NOT DIE? By Volckhausen 

HULDA. By Lewald 

THE BAILIFF’S MAID. By Marlitt 

IN THE SCHILLINGSCOURT. By Marlitt 

AT THE COUNCILLOR’S. By Marlitt 

THE SECOND WIFE. By Marlitt 

OLD MAM’SELLE’S SECRET. By Marlitt 

“ “ “ “ Paper cover 

GOLD ELSIE. By Marlitt 

COUNTESS GISELA. By Marlitt 

LITTLE MOORLAND PRINCESS. By Marlitt 

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WoPcB^tBP'^ UnabridgBd Dictionaf^ 

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In Spellingf Pronundationf anH Definition. 

THE LARGEST AND MOST COMPLETE DICTIONARY 
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*,* For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent, transportation free, on receipt of the price. 

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14 








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THE COLONEL’S DAUGHTER. 

i2mo. Extra cloth. $1.25. 

“The sketches of life in a cavalry command on the frontier are exceedingly vivid and interesting; 
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place in literature. We cordially congratulate Captain King on his accomplished success, for such un- 
questionably it is.” — Army and Navy Journal, New York. 


MARION'S FAITH. 


i2mo. Extra 

“ The author of this novel is a gallant soldier, now 
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cloth. $1.25. 

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KITTY’S CONQUEST. 

i6mo. Extra cloth. $1.00. 

‘‘‘Kitty’s Conquest,’ a charming little story of love and adventure, by Charles King, U.S.A. The 
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uninterruptedly to the end. The varying fortunes through which the hero pursues his ‘ military love- 
making’ are graphically depicted, and a spice of dangerous adventure makes the story all the more read- 
able.” — New York School Journal. 


THE DESERTER and FROM THE RANKS. 

No. 1 OF AMERICAN NOVELS. 

Two Stories under one Cover. Square i2mo. Extra cloth. $1.00. Paper. 

50 cents. 

“ It is a relief, indeed, to turn from the dismal introspection of nuich of our modern fiction to the 
fresh naturalness of such stories as these.” — New York Critic. 

“These novelettes are good examples of the vivacious and graceful style of Captain King, a writer 
who steadily increases in popularity both at home and abroad.” — Philadelphia American. 

“No military novels of the day rival those of Captain King in precision and popularity.” — Boston 
Courier. 


Ilil-A-nST; 

Or, The Curse of the Old South Church of Boston. A Psychological Tale of the 
Late Civil War. By Chaplain JAMES J. KANE, U.S.N., author 
of “Adrift on the Black Wild Tide. Cloth. ^1.25. 

“ A tale of ambition, moral weakness, perfidy, the curse, the Nemesis. Such is the story of the Ho- 
merands— father and son— and of the brilliant, hapless Ilian, the bright star of the Southern Confederacy, 
The plot is laid in Boston, New York, New Orleans, and Europe; the material is weird and fascinating, 
yet real to the core ; the style most felicitous and attractive ; and every actor in it, almost, in turn enlists 
our warmest sympathy. Each page as we read convinces us that there is more that well deserves our 
knowing. It is a rare story; we never saw one like it; and when one begins it he will be certain to read it 
through. Woman has her share in it,— admirable, as in the head of the Confederate secret service; pleas- 
ing, ae in the example of Edith ; estimable, as in the case of her sister and mother, also the wife of Pro- 
fessor Homerand, and others. The moral tone of the story is high, and it is a book that will be eagerly 
read.” 

If not obtamable at your Bookseller^ s, send direct to the Publishers^ who will for- 
ward the books, post-paid, on receipt of the price. 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Publishers, 

715 and 717 Market St., Philadelphia. 

16 


J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY’S 



EV HOLIDAY B00H 





MEMeiRS 0F eoaNT 
6RAMF'0Nf. 

By Anthony Hamilton. 'Edited, with Notes, by 
Sir Walter Scott. With Portrait of Author, 
and Thirty-three Etchings by L. BOISSON, on 
India Paper, from Original Compositions by C. 
Delort. Imperial 8vo. Uncut edges. Bound 
in cloth. ^i8.oo. Full morocco. ^30.00. Edi- 
tion limited to j8o copies for England and America. 

“No other book furnishes an equally vivid picture of life 
at the Court of Charles the Second, and the ‘ Memoirs’ of 
Graminont continue to hold their own in the favor of read- 
ing men. . . . The etchings are refined in execution, 

polished, expressive, and full of human interest .” — Neiu 
York Tribune. 

LEAVES FR0M THE LIF E OF A 
' GOOb-FOR-NerHlNS. 




4 . The Tr aveller. 

By Oliver Goldsmith. With Etchings by M. 
M. Taylor. 8vo. Bound in cloth, gilt. ^3.00. 
Ivory surface. $ 3 -S^ New style of leather. 
^3.50. Tree calf. $7 5 °- 
A companion volume of “ The Deserted Village,” illus- 
trated by the same artist. It will doubtless meet a large 
sale, being an attractive holiday book within a reasonable 
price. 

HERMANN AND D OROTHEA . 

By Goethe. With Etchings by Hermann Faber. 
8vo. Bound in cloth, gilt. $3.00. Ivory surface. 

50 - New style of leather. $3.50. Tree calf. 
$7.50. 

This masterpiece of the German poet is published uniform 
with “ The Legend and Poems of Faust,” illustrated by the 
same artist last year. 


By Joseph F. Von Eichendorp'F. Translated by 
Mrs. a. L. Wister. Fully Illustrated, with 
Full-page an^ Smaller Photogravures in the text. 
Printed on Fine Plate Paper throughout. Small 
4to. Handsomely bou-nd in cloth, gilt top, rough 
edges. $5.00. Full leather, stamped. $6.00. 
Tree calf. ^10.00. 

“ Lovers of the genuine in art and story will accord this 
book a most cordial reception, as too much cannot be said 
on the exquisite nature either of the artistic or literary work- 
manship. The character of the illustrative features is high, 
the plates, which are in profusion, being directly produced 
from the originals of the German artists by the photogravure 
process. Mrs. Wister has done much to catch the humor of 
the author, and has rendered into charming English what we 
think will prove the most popular gift-book of the season.” 
— Art Stationer. 


BERANGER^S S0N6S 
AND POEMS. 

Selected by W. S. Walsh. With Steel Plate Illus- 
trations from .the best French Edition. 8vo. 
Bound in cloth, gilt top. j 554 -oo. New style of 
leather. $5.00. Tree calf. $g.oo. 

The edition is limited to one thousand copies, two hundred 
and fifty of which have been sold in England. 

The present volume is made up of translations selected 
with great care from different volumes published in this 
country and in England, as well as from magazines and 
periodicals. All poems have been omitted which are indeli- 
cate or profane, or ephemeral in their interest. 

INFELieiA. 


L?AMIA. 

New and Cheap Edition. By JOHN Keats. With 
Illustrated Designs by WILL H. Low. Small 
4to. Handsomely bound in cloth, gilt top, rough 
edges. J^5.oo. Full leather, stamped. $6.00. 
Tree calf. ^10 00. 

The great success of this work has induced the publishers 
to issue it in the present form to meet the wants of a larger 
public. It is a fac-simile of the original edition reduced, and 
is very desirable for the library or the table. 

“ It is a truly^ beautiful volume, fit to lie on a queen’s table 
and have its leaves turned over by her royal hands.” — 
Oliver Wendell Holmes. 

“ One of the most elegant and sumptuous of illustrated 
volumes ever published .” — Hew York Herald. 


Red Line. Poems by A. I. Menken. With a 
Sketch of the Author by W. S. Walsh. Illus- 
trated by F. O. C. Darley, Harry Fenn, F. 
E. Lummis, F. S. Church, etc. Small 410. 
Cloth, gilt top. $2.^0. New style of leather. 
^3-5o- 

Adah Isaacs Menken is one of the most interesting figures 
in the annals of the American stage. Her wonderful personal 
beauty and her rare accomplishments, her splendid qualities 
and her outrageous faults, her pathetic end, have all marked 
her out among American women. Her little book of poems, 
“ Infelicia,” has always been a favorite with readers who 
are moved or interested by the sight of a human heart bared 
to the world. The passion, the agony, the scorn of the out- 
cast who feels that she is more sinned against than sinning 
have never found more potent words than in the unrhymed 
chants entitled “ My Heritage” and “Judith.” 




.yXr 


For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent, post-paid, on receipt of the price by 
the publishers. 

J. B. L-IRPINOOTT OOT^VPMNV, 

715 AND 717 MARKET STREET, PHILADELPHIA.' 

16 




Q Q 

■dcEHasS.SSid r'r * r* H H £ieH^HHffiHg^Sgggrg-? gaptg3-3P?r^ ?ip r 737??J^ 


Book of Reference wherever the English Language is Known/* 


ENTIRELY NEW EDITION 

OF 

Chambers’s Encyclopaedia, 

iZOLUME II. NOM REKDY. 


A Dictionary of Univer- 
sal Knowledge, with Maps 
and Wood-Engravings. 


Precise and Accnrate. 


To be completed in ten 
volumes, — issued at inter- 
vals. Price per volume : 
Cloth, $3.00 ; Sheep, $4.00; 
Half Morocco, $4.50. 


EDITED AND PUBLISHED UNDER THE AUSPICES OF 

W. & R. CHAMBERS,! (J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, 

EOI1VI5UIIOH, J • I I?iIIlL.A.I>EL.l?IIIA. 


A library in itself. 

Embracing those points 
which every intelligent man 
and woman may have oc- 
casion to speak or think 
about. 


Easy of Consnltation. 


NEW TYPE, 

NEW SUBJECTS, 
NEW lEEUSTBATIONS, 
NEW MAPS. 



T he same thorough revision and accuracy that characterize the first volume are also found 
in the second. It contains 828 pages, from Bea to Cata, is profusely illustrated with 
new wood-cuts, and supplied with maps of Belgium, Burma, California, Dominion of 
Canada, Eastern Provinces of Canada, Cape Colony, and South Africa. “Altogether it is an 
accurate, concise, and scholarly compendium of useful knowledge, a rich treasure at a low price.” 

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 

“ One of the most valuable works of reference in existence.” — New York World. 

“ No book of the size gives more information, or gives it, on the whole, with greater accuracy.” 
— St. yames Gazette, London. 

“No book beside the Bible and the handy dictionary can be said to be more important.” — 
Boston Herald. 

“Could we own but one Encyclopoedia, Chambers’s would be that one.” — Boston Advertiser. 
“The new Encyclopaedia will be a library in itself, and will be certain to be highly appreciated 
wherever the English language is spoken.” — Liverpool Mercury. 

“ It is a complete and handsome book, and should introduce the Encyclopaedia into every family 
that has not had the good fortune to secure it earlier. In literary merit and style, as well as in its 
adaptation to the average inquirer, it is incomparably the very best and cheapist Encyclopaedia for 
popular reference.” — Boston Globe. 


*** For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent, transportation free, on receipt of the price, by 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Publishers, 

715 and 7x7 market Street, Pliiladelphla* 

17 


Pears’ Soap 

Fair white hands. 
Brightclear complexion 
Soft healthful skin. 

“PEABS’-Tliii Eiifllsli ConipMaD SOUP.-SoMEtmilme.’' 


If common soaps are irritating to the skin 
of adults, as they unquestionably are, they are 
doubly and trebly injurious to the delicate skin 
of the infant and young child ; but Pears’ Soap 
is used and recommended by thousands of in- 
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because, while serving as a detergent and 
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PEARS’ is the best, most elegant, and the 
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20 


J -B- LIPPmCoTT” COAPATiyS 

)ULl-kET^in^ • * o p • ♦ ’ 

-riEW- 

PUBLiCATlOnS 

P 11 I 1 <ADKI.PIIIA, JANUARY, 1889. 



T his bulletin contains A LIST of our NEW PUBLICATIONS, with brief 
notices of their contents, etc., together with an announcement of WORKS 
now IN PRESS to be issued shortly. 

Our Publications are for Sale by Booksellers generally, or if not obtainable of 
them, will be sent by mail, post-paid, upon receipt of price. 


NEW PUBLICATIONS. 

Leaves from the Life of a Good-f or- Nothing. 

Translated by Mrs. A. L. Wister from the German of Von Eichendorff. 
Illustrated with Full-page and Smaller Photogravures in the text. Printed on 
Fine Plate Paper throughout. Small 4to. Handsomely bound in cloth, gilt 
top, rough edges. $5.00. Full leather, stamped. $6.00. Tree calf. $10.00. 
“ EichendorfTs ‘ Leaves from the Life of a Good-for-Nothing’ is one of the choicest 
masterpieces of German literature, and Mrs. A. L, Wister is the best of German trans- 
lators. J. B. Lippi ncott Company have freely bestowed the resources of the printers’ and 
binders’ art in publishing the work, and the result is the most delightful holiday book of 
the season. The illustrations are by famous German artists reproduced with exquisite 
grace and fidelity by the photogravure process.” 

“ One of the loveliest gift-books that has yet made its appearance. Mrs. Wister is 
noted for the perfection with which she gives to her translations the aroma of the original. 
The aroma in this case is as fresh as lavender and as fragrant as sweetbrier .” — New York 
Morning Journal. 

Memoirs of Count Grammont. 

By Anthony Hamilton. Edited, with Notes, by Sir Walter Scott. With 
Portrait of Author, and Thirty-three Etchings by L. Boisson, on India Paper, 
from Original Compositions by 0. Delort. Imperial 8vo. Uncut edges. Bound 
in cloth. $18.00. Full morocco. $30.00. Edition limited to 780 copies for 
England and America. 

The only edition printed from the original French plates hears the imprint of 
J. B. Lippincott Company, the authorized American publishers. 

“There is nothing like the hiltory of Grammont in any language. For drollery, 
knowledge of the world, various satire, general utility, united with great veracity of com- 
position, it is unrivalled. It is pleasantry throughout, and pleasantry of the best sort, 
unforced, graceful, and engaging.” 

“ No other book furnishes an equally vivid picture of life at the court of Charles the 
Second, and the ‘ Memoirs’ of Grammont continue to hold their own in the favor of read- 
ing men. . . . The etchings are refined in execution, polished, expressive, and full of 
human interest .” — New York Tribune. 

Paradoxes of a Philistine. 

By Wm. S. Walsh. 16mo. $1.00. 

A collection of fugitive essays dealing with life, literature, and manners from an 

unconventional point of view. , ,, , , , , -i- • • •. 

“An appreciative public will understand Mr. Walsh’s pleasant way of disguising its 
demand for a permanent and collective reissue of his graceful, critical, and pt-nsive papers. 
There is more than a hint of the manner and spirit of the late wise and witty Dr. Uulland 
in the easy, familiar musings of Mr. Walsh. His style is very insinuating ; it quickly 
grips the reader’s attention and never lets go. ^Philadelphia Press. 

21 


NEW PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 


Lamia. 

New Reduced Edition. Fac-simile of the original folio. By John Keats. 
With Illustrated Designs by Will H. Low. Small 4to. Handsomely bound 
in cloth, gilt top, rough edges. $5.00. Full leather, stamped. $6.00. Tree 
calf. $10.00. 

“ When Will H. Low’s beautiful illuminated edition of Keats's ‘ Lamia’ came out last 
year we went into raptures over it, — nothing so exquisite was published. The claim of its 
classic and mystic art is still potent in the popular edition issued this year. The drawings 
retain their ^auty of line in reduction, and the soft, yielding cover is seductive to the 
touch and eye.” — Philadelphia Press. 

“ It is a gem among gift-books.” — New York Herald, 

“ An elegant volume. The illustrations are marked with exquisite delicacy, and the 
manufacture of the book is in the highest style of refinement.” — New York Independent. 

Hermann and Dorothea. 

By Goethe, With Etchings by Hermann Faber. 8vo. Bound in cloth, gilt. 
$3.00. Ivory surface. $3.50. New style of leather. $3.50. Tree calf. $7.50. 
This masterpiece of the Gherman poet is published uniform with “ The Legend and 
Poems of Faust,” illustrated by the same artist last year. 

“ A charming edition of what, despite the fame of ‘ Faust,’ is probably the most pop- 
ular of Goethe’s poems. The etchings, besides being good in technical quality, are faith- 
fully illustrative of the text, and the binding is elaborate yet tasteful.” — New York Herald. 

“This stately poem and pleasing love-story is among the purest and sweetest by the 
great author. The text has been beautifully and artistically illustrated, and the book, in 
all its make-up of text and illustration, is a gem. It deserves the place it will likely have 
as a favorite gift-book.” — Chicago Inter-Ocean. 

Stranger's Songs and Poems. 

Selected by W. S. Walsh. With Steel Plate Illustrations from the best French 
Edition. 8vo. Bound in cloth, gilt top. $4.00. New style of leather. $5.00. 
Tree calf. $9.00. 

The edition is limited to one thousand copies, two hundred and fifty of which have 
been sold in England. 

“ The volume is of much literary importance ; with its many fine engravings and its 
dainty bindings it should find ready appreciation.” — Publishers' Weekly. 

“The lover of the rollicking and inimitable Chansons de Beranger will miss none of 
his favorite pieces in this collection, and he need have no fear of leaving the volume on 
the library-table, which it is designed to grace. Mr. Walsh has not included what is 
‘ indelicate or profane.’ ” — Philadelphia Press. 

“ One of the handsomest of the holiday books ; the paper, type, illustrations, and 
binding are alike admirable, and the selections are fully representative of the poet. The 
editor’s sketch of Beranger is a model worthy to be followed in similar ^oks.” — New York 
Herald. 

• 

Infelicia. 

Red Line. Poems by Adah Isaacs Menken. With a Sketch of the Author 
by W. S. Walsh. Illustrated by F. 0. 0. Parley, Harry Fenn, F. E. 
Lummis, F. S. Church, etc. Small 4to. Cloth, gilt top. $2.50. New style 
of leather. $3.50. 

Adah Isaacs Menken is one of the most interesting figures in the annals of the Ameri- 
can stage. Her wonderful personal beauty and her rare accomplishments, her splendid 
qualities and her outrageous faults, her pathetic end, have all marked her out among 
American women. Her little book of poems, “ Infelicia,” has always been a favorite with 
readers who are moved or interested by the sight of a human heart bared to the world. 
The passion, the agony, the scorn of the outcast who feels that she is more sinned against 
than sinning have never found more potent words than in the unrhymed chants entitled 
“ My Heritage” and “ Judith.” 

“Among the most beautiful of their holiday books.” — Philadelphia Times. 

“ The poems of this erratic but generous, impulsive, and really gifted woman deserve 
to have a permanent place in American literature.” — Philadelphia Evening Bulletin. 

22 


NEW PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 


The Traveller. 

By Oliver Goldsmith. With Etchings by M. M. Taylor. 8vo. Bound in 
cloth, gilt. S3.00. Ivory surface. $3.50. New style of leather. $3.50. 
Tree calf. $7.50. 

“Seldom has this poem had finer setting than in the present volume.” — Christian 
Advocate. 

“ It is one of the landmarks of English literature, and to possess it in such a garb as 
this will make it doubly delightful.” — Philadelphia Times. 

“ A perusal of Goldsmith’s neatly-balanced periods gives genuine pleasure to a thought- 
ful mind, and the book is delightfully illustrated.” — Philadelphia Ledger. 

The Quick or the Dead f 

By Amalie Rives. A New Edition in Book Form. Suitable for the library or 
centre-table. 12mo. Large print, with Portrait. $1.00. 

This edition contains a preface just written by the author, giving an explanation of 
her motive in writing the book and answering the objections of her critics. 

“ A powerful story; the strongest written yet in America.” — Kansas City Times. 
“There is no reason why a lady who has written with such remarkable power, and 
who is in the very flush and dawn of her young life, should not, with experience, observa- 
tion, and study, win a place in our literature equalled only among female authors by George 
Eliot alone. The wonderful book of this young authoress has perhaps made a deeper 
impression upon our American literature than any work of fiction since ‘ Uncle Tom’s 
Cabin.”’ — New York Herald. 

Memorial of Sarah Pugh. 

A Tribute of Respect from Her Cousins. A Record given chiefly from her own 
letters and private memoranda. 12mo. Cloth. $1.00. 

“ This volume will interest many readers who knew Sarah Pugh as a woman of high 
purposes, strong convictions, and great practical beneficence. She died in Germantown 
in 1884, at the age of eighty years. She was one of the early abolitionists and a strong 
advocate of many social reforms. This memorial, written as a ‘tribute of respect from 
her cousins,’ contains extracts from her diaries written in this country and in Europe, 
where she had unusual opportunities of knowing the best philanthropists.” — Philadelphia 
Bulletin. 

Half-Hours with the Best Foreign Authors. 

Translations selected and arranged by Charles Morris. Four Volumes. Crown 
8vo. Uniform with “ Half-Hours with the Best American Authors.” Cloth, gilt 
top. $6.00. Half morocco. $10.00. Three-quarters calf. $13.00, Also an 
Edition de Luxe, limited to one hundred copies. In Four Volumes. Octavo. 
$16.00. 

“ Mr. Morris’s choice shows excellent judgment, and the collection represents the 
cream of foreign literature, ancient and modern.” — Boston Transcript. 

“ ‘ Half-Hours with the Best Foreign Authors’ will charm the most confirmed biblio- 
phile.” — Baltimore American. 

“The collection is in truth an extremely interesting one, and the books of the time 
offer no better method for a ready acquaintance with the ‘ choice and master spirits’ of 
literature in other speech than our own.” — New York Times. 

Girls’ Own In-door Book. 

Edited by Charles Peters, Editor of “ A Crown of Flowers,” etc. Containing 
practical helps to girls on all matters relating to their comfort and moral well- 
being. Over One Hundred and Fifty Illustrations. Small 4to. Cloth. $1.75. 
Special attention is paid in this book to such all-important subjects as the home-life 
and self-education, while all the departments of girl-life that come under the title have 
been carefully treated. It supplies directions in those particular matters that each girl 
must be conversant with in order to attain anything like the ideal and practical perfection 
of girlhood. The writers are recognized specialists in their particular work, so that every 
girl reading with care and intelligence will derive help of an important kind. 

28 


NEW PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COM PANT. 


Boys' Book of In-door Games and Recreations. 

Edited by G. A. Hutchison. Over Seven Hundred Illustrations. Small 4to. 
Cloth. $1.75. 

It is especially a boy’s book, calculated to afford both pleasure and profit, treating of 
those topics in which boys take particular interest. There are chapters on games and 
sports of all kinds; the boy’s workshop ; howto build boats, etc.; musical instruments, 
toys ; conjurers and conjuring ; ventriloquism ; and pleasant and profitable occupation for 
spare hours. 

“The bright compiler of this volume seems to understand just what will keep boys 
amused and make them happy.’’ — Publishers' Weekly. 

“There is scarcely anything found within its cover that is not calculated to amuse and 
instruct boys, and which must also prove exceedingly valuable.’’ — Williamsport Gazette. 

Patriotic Reader; 

Or, Human Liberty Developed in Verse and Prose, from various Ages, Lands, and 
Races. With Historical Notes. By Henry B. Carrington, U.S.A., LL.D., 
author of “ Battles of the American Revolution,” etc. Cro. 8vo. Cloth. $1.20. 
A volume containing selections in prose and verse, for reading or reciting in schools, 
with a special view to developing the ideas of liberty proper to American citizens. The 
selections made in a chronological classification refer to ancient times, and come down to 
the present. 

“ A very interesting volume ; as a manual of literature of patriotism it deserves to be 
highly commended.’’ — Philadelphia Times. 

Insects Injurious to Fruits. 

By William Saunders, F.R.S.C., F.L.S., F.C.S., Director of the Experimental 
Farms of the Dominion of Canada, etc. Illustrated with over four hundred 
Wood-Cuts. Cheap Edition. 12mo. Cloth. $2.00. 

Containing all the important facts relating to insects known to be injurious to fruits 
in all parts of Canada and the United States, and now first published at a popular price. 

“ A standard work which no fruit-grower can afford to ignore.’’ — Philadelphia Press. 

Botany. 

For Academies and Colleges. By Annie Chambers-Ketchum. Plant 
Development and Structure from Sea- weed to Clematis. Two Hundred and Fifty 
Illustrations, and a Manual of Plants, including all the known Orders, with their 
Representative Genera. 12mo. Cloth. $1.00. 

Mrs. Ketchum has devoted seven years to the preparation of this work, — living literally 
with the plants during more than half that time, in the fields and gardens of Europe and 
America. The hundreds of teachers and students who have listened to her lectures upon 
the Inductive System, on which the Lessons are based, have already assured the success of 
this beautiful book, containing in its three hundred duodecimo pages twice as much in- 
struction as can be found in the most compendious text-books in use. 

“ As a whole, the book is excellent as a higher study of plant life.’’— A’eio York School 
Journal. 

“ No more attractive school-book could be put into the hands of the young student.’’— 
St. Louis Republican. 

“It is the most comprehensive, logical, and practical text-book of botany yet issued 
in any language; worthy not only to be made a ten study in the senior classes of all our 
colleges, but also to be awarded an honorable place in the standard scientific literature of 
the world.’’ — Few York Home Journal. 

Art in the Modern State. 

By Lady Dilke. Demy 8vo. $2.50. 

Two Centuries of Irish History. 1691-1870. 

By W. K. Sullivan, George Sigerson, J. H. Bridges, Lord Edmond Fitz- 
MAURiCE, James R. Thurspield, and G. P. MacDonell. Edited by James 
Bryce, M.P., Fellow of Oriel College, Oxford. Demy 8vo. $4.50. 

“The whole volume is among the most important and interesting contributions to 
modern Irish history which have appeared in recent yesiYs."—St. James's Gazette. 

24 


NEW PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOH COMPANY. 


The Writer’s Handbook. 

A Guide to the Art of Composition^ embracing a general Treatise on Composition 
and Style, instruction in English Composition, with Exercises for Paraphrasing; 
and an Elaborate Letter-Writer’s vade-mecum in which are numerous Rules and 
Suggestions relating to the Epistolary Art. Uniform with “ Brewer’s Reader’s 
Handbook,” and forming a new volume of “ The Reader’s Reference Library.” 
12n9o. Half morocco. $2.50. Half Russia. $3.50. 

The “ Writer's Handbook” is not only a guide to composition and style, but also a 
full handbook to letter-writing. First, it treats of composition and style, with hints as to 
the preparation and publication of manuscripts, proof reading, and other details. On letter- 
writing is given an elaborate essay, rules for punctuation, a dictionary of blunders and 
blemishes, and various lists of constant use to writers of all degrees. 

“ A book of unusual value to writers of the press .” — Boston Transcript. 

” Of great assistance to those who wish to cultivate the best and most refined method 
and style .” — New York World. 

Life of Lamartine. 

By Lady Margaret Domvile. With Portrait. 8vo. Cloth. $2.00. 

The author’s task in rendering in such an admirable manner the life’s history of 
this celebrated French poet, orator, and historian, is deserving of great praise. The work 
contains an account of Lamartine’s early trials, hardships, and youthful reveries and aspira- 
tions; his wonderful diplomatic career and, at onetime, immense popularity; and last, 
but not least, his great literary abilities. 

Modern Methuselahs; 

Or, Short Biographical Sketches of a Few Advanced Nonagenarians or Actual Cen- 
tenarians who were Distinguished in Art, Science, Literature, or Philanthropy ; 
also Brief Notices of some Individuals remarkable chiefly for their Longevity. 
By John Burn Bailey. Royal 8vo. Cloth. $3 00. 

This interesting book comprises some curious information concerning centenarians and 
long-livers generally, together with brief biographical sketches of many illustrious exam- 
ples of long life. Mr. Bailey’s introductory essay is excellent reading, and the book is a 
reminder of the little we know of the art of “long lasting,” as Bacon calls it, in spite of 
the abundant records of longevity. 

He has presented much of the personal history and the domestic habits and leading 
characters tics of his distinguished subjects, from which the intelligent reader can draw 
valuable conclusions. It is both an entertaining and instructive book, and a good study 
for a multitude of men and women of these days who have their life-candle lighted at both 
ends .” — Chicago Inter-Ocean. 

Walks in Palestine. 

The Letter-press by H. A. Harper, Author of “ Illustrated Letters to my Children 
from the Holy Land,” etc. Illustrated by Twenty-four Photogravures from Photo- 
graphs taken by C. V. Shadbolt, Esq. Royal 4to. Bevelled boards, gilt edges. 
$7.50. 

A superb gift-book and souvenir of the Holy Land. Mr. Shadbolt’s photographs are 
of the highest merit, and they have been most beautifully reproduced by Messrs. Annan 
and Swan. The letter-press is from the pen of Mr. Harper, who has lived for years in 
Palestine, and is familiar with every spot shown in the illustrations. 

As a presentation volume this will hold its own against any of the same class that 
have been issued from the press. 

Beethoven. 

A Memoir. By Elliott Graeme. With an Introductory Essay by Dr. Ferdi- 
nand Hiller. 12mo. Cloth, gilt top. $2.00. 

Life and Works of Charlotte Bronte, 

AND Her Sisters Emily and Annie Bront^. Pocket Edition. In Seven 
Volumes. Each Containing a Frontispiece. Issued at Monthly Intervals. 
16mo. Half cloth. 50 cents. Half morocco. $1.00. 

Now Ready ; JANE EYRE, VILLETTE, SHIRLEY. 

26 


NEW PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 


Easter Bells. 

Songs of Joy for Easter-tide. Beautifully Illustrated. Small 4to. 75 cents. 

A Life's Morning. 

By G. Gissing, author of “ Demos,” “ Thyrza,” etc. No. 91 of Lippmcotfs Series 
of Select Novels. 16mo. Paper. 25 cents. Half cloth. 50 cents. 

“ The story is of intense interest.” — Boston Home Journal. 

“A well-written story. It is a good lesson on the supersensitiveness of the age, which 
must be met by natural living or perpetually favored in that which is confined to conven- 
tionalism.” — Brooklyn Eagle. 

“This is a pleasant story, fully worth reading.” — Baltimore American. 

This Wicked World. 

By Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron, author of “A Devout Lover,” “ In a Grass 
Country,” etc. No. 92 of lAppincott^ Series of Select Novels. 16mo. Paper. 
25 cents. Half cloth. 50 cents. 

“Mrs. Cameron’s novels have won for her a world-wide reputation as a vivacious, 
dramatic, and exceedingly entertaining writer.” — Boston Home Journal. 

“ The works of this author are always pure in character, and can be safely put in the 
hands of young as well as old.” — Norristown Herald. 

The Owl's Nest. 

From the German of E. Marlitt. By Mrs. A. L. Wister, author of “ Picked 
Up in the Streets,” “ Saint Michael,” etc. Cloth. $1.25. 

“The best story which Mrs. Wister has translated for some years. It has all the 
sentimental qualities dear to the German heart, and much of the esprit demanded by 
American taste. The moral is excellent, inculcating the precept that girls must seem^ as 
well as be, irreproachable in behavior.” — Philadelphia Ledger. 

Aunt Diana. 

A Story for Girls. By Rosa Nouchette Carey. Illustrated. Uniform with 
“Esther.” 12mo. Cloth. $1.25. 

“The curiosity of those who ask what it is that makes Rosa Nouchette Carey so 
popular can easily be gratified. Her stories, while interesting in themselves, have a moral 
charm that emanates from the principal characters. She has now written a dozen novels, 
and in all of them the same purity of intention is manifest. It teaches without preaching, 
it lifts the reader into a fine atmosphere without lecturing.” — New York Morning Journal. 

“ It has all the elements of interest and pleasing peculiarities of style that have made 
Miss Carey’s books such good reading. She has the enviable power of making the seemingly 
commonplace as absorbingly interesting as the wildest adventure, which insures her books 
against a dull chapter or page.” — American Bookseller. 

Ilian ; 

Or, the Curse of the Old South Church of Boston. A Psychological Tale of the 
Late Civil War. By Chaplain James J. Kane, United States Navy, author of 
“ Adrift on the Black Wild Tide.” Cloth. $1.25. 

“ The novel deserves wide reading, for it is the reverse of commonplace.” — New York 
Morning Journal, 

“ This is a book worthy of more than passing notice. The tale is absorbingly interest- 
ing, the glimpses of Northern and Southern social life are evidently given by one who 
knows, and the naval episodes are almost worthy of Clark Russell himself.” — New York 
Truth. 

Sinfire and Douglas Duane. 

No. 3 of the Series of American Novels, By Julian Hawthorne, author of 
“ Archibald Malmaison,” etc., and Edgar Fawcett, author of “A Gentleman 
of Leisure,” etc. Square 12mo. Extra cloth. $1.00. Paper. 50 cents. 

“ They are curious, sensational, picturesque novels, well worked out, and among their 
most popular efibrts.” — New York Graphic. 

“ Both the stories are well worth perusal.” — Kansas Oiiy Times. 

26 


NEW PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 


Untrodden Paths in Rowmania. 

By Mrs. Walker, author of “Eastern Life and Scenery.” With Seventy-eight 
Illustrations. 8vo. Cloth. $3.00. 

United States Dispensatory. New ( 1 6th) Edition. 

By H. C. Wood, M.D., LL.D., Joseph P. Remington, Ph.M., F.C.S., and 
Samuel P. Sadtler, Ph.D., F.C.S. Price in extra cloth. $7.00. Best leather, 
raised bands. $8.00. Half Russia, raised bands. $9.00. 

Over 800 pages of new material have been added, including the latest information 
about the mydriatic alkaloids, the new antipyretics, antiseptics, etc., etc. This has neces- 
sitated the dropping of about five hundred pages of effete matter. 

The National Formulary has been incorporated, and the gain to both authorities of 
having the valuable information of each connected, so that whilst working from a formula 
the operator may have a reference to the article on the subject in the Dispensatory, is one 
that every practical pharmacist will thoroughly appreciate. 

Therapeutics: Its Principles and Practice. 

By H. C. Wood, M.D., LL.D. Seventh Edition. A Work on Medical Agencies, 
Drugs, and Poisons, with especial reference to the Relations between Physiology 
and Clinical Medicine. 8vo. Cloth. $6.00. Sheep. $6.50. 

“ Although always a favorite for the conciseness of the text and the reliability of thera- 
peutic teaching, in its new dress it has excelled itself, and is likely to hold its own against 
all rivals.” — Wilmington {N. C.) Medical Journal. 

“ The preface to the work is worthy of being framed and hung in front of every physi- 
cian’s desk. It is the retrospective of a lifetime spent in systematic study, and indexes the 
highest order of scholarly attainment.” — California Practitionei'. 

Chamberses Encyclopmdia. Vol. 2. 

A Dictionary of Universal Knowledge. Edited and Published under the Auspices 
of Wr & R. Chambers, Edinburgh, and J. B. Lippinoott Company, Phila- 
delphia. Entirely Revised and Rewritten, Complete in ten volumes. Price per 
vol. Cloth. $3.00. Cloth, uncut. $3.00. Sheep. $4.00. Half morocco. $4.50. 
“ No other encyclopaedia equals Chambers’s in popular interest. . . . It is eminently 
a book for the household.” — Cincinnati Commercial Gazette. 

“For some uses, ‘and those the most practical, it is superior to the American or the 
Britannica. ’ ’ — Pittsburgh Telegraph. 

“One of the best of moderate-priced encyclopaedias for popular use in this country.” 
N. Y. Book Buyer. 

International Statesmen Series. 

Edited by Lloyd C. Sanders. Cloth. 75 cents per volume. 

Under this title a new series of biographical studies of the great men who have influ- 
enced the social and political history of the world is announced. Its scope will be com- 
prehensive, embracing the ancients and the moderns, and including not only the creators 
of the English Commonwealth, but also the makers of European and American politics, 
and the founders of the Indian and Colonial Empires. 

LORD BEACONSFIELD. By T. E. Kebbel. 

VISCOUNT PALMERSTON. By Lloyd C. Sanders. 

PRINCE METTERNICH, By Colonel G. B. Malleson, C.S.I. 

O’ CONNELL. By J. A. Hamilton, Fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford. 
LORD BOLINGBROKE. By Arthur Hassall. In Press. 

“The volumes and the series have particular reasons to engross the attention of students, 
among general readers, dependent upon their very complete reproduction of the spirit, 
motives, and results of politics in their times ; and it may safely be predicted that, with 
the accordance of purpose and treatment in succeeding issues, the series will afford quite 
as intelligent and clear a view of the course and expression of English politics as can be 
secured without long and laborious search of many and more or less conflicting volumes. 
The books are models in typographical qualities, and are inexpensive.” — Boston Globe. 

The following volumes are in a state of active preparation, and the date of their 
appearance will be duly announced : Peel, by F. C. Montague, Fellow of Oriel College, 
Oxford ; William Pitt, Charles James Fox, The Marquis Wellesley, The Prince Consort, 
Lord Dalhousie, Earl Russell, Lord Derby, Prince Gortschakoff, Gambetta, and others. 

27 


NEW PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 


Worcester’s New Comprehensive Dictionary. 

Entirely New Edition. Containing over 48,000 Words in Common Use, with an 
Appendix of 15,000 Proper Names, New Illustrations, reset from New Type, and 
printed from entirely New Plates. 8vo. Half roan. $1.40. 

“ There is perhaps no other dictionary of its size, now pnblisl^ed, that contains so much 
useful matter in a condensed form, or approaches it in fulness or completeness,^ With 
resrard to pronunciation, nothing need be said, as in all Dr. Worcester’s dictionaries pro- 
nunciation has been made a special object, and has received particular attention .” — School 
Journal. 

Dunraven Ranch. 

By Capt. Charles King, author of “The Colonel’s Daughter,” “From the 
Ranks,” “ The Deserter,” etc. With Portrait of the Author. Published com- 
plete in Xjippincott' s MagazSne for December, 1888. 25 cents. Half cloth. 

50 cents. 

“ It is compact, interesting, and breezy .” — New York Herald. 

“ Captain King’s novels have, among other qualities worth noting, the special distinc- 
tion of ardent and poetic sentiment. He is almost the only American novelist who allows 
his heroes to be frankly, heartily, and romantically in love .” — New York Tribune. 


BOOKS IN PRESS. 

An Elementary Treatise on Human Anatomy. 

Entirely New Edition. By Joseph Leidy, Professor of Anatomy in the Uni- 
versity of Pennsylvania. Illustrated. 

A Cyclopcedia of Diseases of Children 

And their Treatment, Medical and Surgical. In Four Volumes. Edited 
by J. M. Keating, M.D. 

Life of Henry M. Stanley. 

By Rev. H. W. Little. One Volume. 8vo. 

History of the Celebration of the One Hundredth 

Anniversary of the Promulgation of the Constitution of the United States. The 
Proceedings of the Constitutional Centennial Commission. Descriptions of the 
various Celebrations, Civic and Military, Reports of Committees. Edited by 
Hampton L. Carson, Secretary of the Commission. Published under the 
direction and by the authority of the Commission. Two Volumes. Illustrated. 

The Clinical Diagnosis of Non-Surgical Dis- 

eases by Bacteriological, Chemical, and Microscopical Methods of Research. By 
Dr. Rudolf von Jaksch, Assistant in Medical Clinic and Private Tutor in the 
University of Vienna. With 108 Wood-Cuts. Translated into English by Dr. 
Cagney, of St. Mary’s Hospital, London. One Volume. 8vo. 

A Shocking Example^ and Other Sketches. 

By Frances Courtney Baylor, author of “ On Both Sides,” “ Behind the Blue 
Ridge,” etc. With Portrait of the Author. 

28 



7v^iscei-1-kne:ous 











BOOK HOLDERS. 

The Most Perfect 
Dictionary Holder. 
The Progressive EuchreTable 
Send for Catalogue. 

R. M. LAM BIE. 

39 E.19th St., N.Y. 



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Pleasb Mention this Magazine. 



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needle work, bric-a-butic, cooking, and all home topics. Our letter box is 
open for free correspondence; also our exchange column is free to our 
subscribers for the exchange of articles of all kinds. Subscription, $1.00 
per year. This Corset is boned with Featherbone, made of extra quality 
satin jeans, in white and ecru, hand flossed with silk, trimmed, with satin 
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To Arcade Publishing Co., Chicago, III.: 

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that I am well pleased with them. The Corset is the 
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I HAVE been engaged In dressmaking for fifteen 
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We receive dozens of such testimonials every day 
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ARCADE PUBLISHING CO.. 

84 State Street, Chicago, 111. 




[ r' ri r^T-- r-^ rC\rr^ rr^r rritrctj SlXi 

}— H J JSJ J T . 

3t?j p ? ? 7 a ?r j r 3-?r; j pp ' prp p- p - ppp 7 J-;a-;:mr?3rvj^-^ 

THE 



KAIVSAS CITY, MO., 
FIVE 7EAE BEAL ESTATE 

FIRST MORTGAGE GOUPON BONDS. 



rl 



In sums of ^rooo to $10,000 each, bearing interest at 
rate of eight per cent, per annum. Interest payable 
semi-annually. These Bonds are secured by first mort- 
g.ages on Kansas City property worth three and four 
times the amount of Bonds. Prompt payment of prin- 
cipal and interest guaranteed at maturity. Interest 
collectible through your own bank, with New York 
exchange added. Recorded mortgage forwarded with 
each Bond. 

CERTIFICATES OF DEPOSIT 

Issued in amounts of $100 and upwards, bearing interest 
at the rate of e^ght per cent, per annum. Certificates of 
Deposit are secured by first mortgage bonds deposited 
with a trustee, a special deposit rece pt to that effect 
from trustee is attached to each Certificate issued, there- 
fore making the Certificates of Deposit an absolutely safe 
investment. 

When ordering securities, write your name in full, also 
that of your city, county, and State. 

J. H. BAYHRI^HIT^ & CO., 

Security Building. Kansas City, Ulissouri. 


LIPPIECOm MA&AME. 

Half Cloth., Roxhurgh Style. 

Price, 50 Cents. 

J. B, I.IJPBINCOX'T COMPANY, 

PUBLISHERS, 

715 and 717 Market St., Philadelphia. 


OP KANSAS OITY, MO. 


Capital, S500, 000.00. Surplus, 9044,975.00. 


This company does strictly an investment busi- 
ness and shares with investors the results of con- 
servative and profitable investments. They offer a 
fixed income, large profits, and absolute security. 
Nearly $2,000,000 net profits paid to investors since 
188S, from Kansas City (Mo.) real estate invest- 
ments. At the present time opportunity is offered 
to invest in desirable Kansas City real estate, se- 
cured by a first mortgage bond, bearing ten-per-cent, 
guaranteed interest in amounts of $500.00 and its 
multiple. One-half the net profits given to pur- 
chasers of the bonds. Write for full information 


EIGHT-PER-CENT. 

GUARANTEED FIRST MORTGAGES 

on Kansas City real estate always on hand, based 
on an actual selling price, principal and semi-an- 
nual interest absolutely guaranteed, payable at ma- 
turity, and 25 per cent, deposited witn the American 
Loan and Trust Company, of Boston, as additional 
security. No safer investment possible. Amounts 
$300.00 upwards. 

WILLIAM H. PARMENTER, 

General Agent, 

Massachusetts Hospital Life Insurance Co. Building, 
60 STATE STREET, BOSTON, MASS. 


Guaranty Investment Company. 

• CAFZ TAXj, Si^O .OOO. 

HON. A. H. HORTON, Topeka, Kansas, President (Chief Justice Kansas Supreme Court). 
LEWIS A, RILEY, Philadelphia, Pa., First Vice-President. 


7% GUARANTEED FARM MORTGAGES. 7% 

A COMMITTEE OF INVESTORS has recently made a very interesting Report upon the general 
development of Kansas and Nebreiska, as well as the business of the Company. 

Send for this Report and the Monthly Bulletin, giving full information about every loan offered for 
sale. 

HENRY A. RILEY, General Eastern Manager, 

lot Sroadway, X. T., or 222 Walnut St., ^Philadelphia. 

The Company will be pleased to give the names of a large number of Philadelphia investors. 



30 



ri.dj^c,ci d x:LcLjd jdj ^ . Eg? , H dd . r£ SE _ ____________ „_ 

F! I N K N C I K L- 

i =!r?FPPH HHH F?rJ r^P HSg ggSgg^ PPf?«^?^^PTa-;jp P'^rr p?3-p-p- - r;3P7g ??p 




NKLIN 



930 JBroadtcap, 2 Vetv York, 

825 Wyandotte St., Kansas City, 

518 Walnut St,, Philadelphia, 

Capital and Surplus, $1,175,000. 

Guaranteed Mortgages, 

Debenture Donds, and 

Investment Securities, 


Philadelphia Directors. 

Wm. Hackbr, 

S. RoBiNsoft Coals, 

Richard W. Clay, Richard L. Austin, 

Cr'aigb Lippincott, Wm. P. Bbment. 


John M. Shriglby, 
James Schleicher, 


SAMUEL M. JARVIS, 
President. 


ROLAND R. CONKLIN, 
Secretary. 



Guarantee Fund to secure Investors, 
$ 3 , 600 , 000 , 


Conservative Management insured by double 
liability of Stockholders, 

S5 years? continuous business without the loss 
of a dollar to a single investor. 

PHILADELPHIA DIEEOTORS i 

WM. B. BEMENT, Industrial Iron Works, 

GEO. BURNHAM, Baldwin Locomotive Works. 

GEO. PHILLER, Pres. First National Bank. 

GEO. M. TROUTMAN, Pres. Central National Bank. 
WM. McGEORGE, Jr., Counsellor at Law. 

The celebrated 6 per cent. First Mortgages of this 
Company in amounts from $200 to $20,000, the principal 
and interest of which are guaranteed by the above fund, 
for sale at par and accrued interest. Send for pamphlets. 

WM. McGEORGE, Jr., 

Bullitt Building, lai-idS South 4th St. 


LIFE SIZE PORTRAIT ! 

ORieMU. ouyoH 

"WITH 

Bronze Frame,$ 1 2 

Send photo, or Imperfect 
likeness. Satisfaction 
given on all orders or 
no pay required. Call, 
write or wire, N. Y. ART- 
ISTS’ UNION, Room 2 . 10 
B. 14 th St., between oth 
Ave. and Broadway. 

AGENTS WANTED 

EVERYWHERE. 


JI.y. School of ;irt, 

Under the Management of the 





N.Y. ARTISTS’ 

Instruction in all Branches of Art. 

SCHOOL NOW OPEN FOR PUPILS. 

Send for Circular. 


N.Y. SCHOOL OF ART, 

10 East 14th Street, 

NEW YORK. 


TRUST A WD SAFE DEPOSIT C OWPAWY. 

THE PENNSYLVANIA COMPANY 

FOR INSURANCES ON LIVES AND 
GRANTING ANNUITIES, 

No. 431 Chestnut Street. 

INCORPORATED MARCH 10, 1812. 

CHARTER PERPETUAL. 

CAPITAL - - - 92,000,000 
SURPLUS - - - 1,700,000 

Chartered to act as EXECUTORS, ADMINISTRATORS, 
TRUSTKES, GUARDIANS, ASSIGNEES, COMMITTEES, 
RECEIVERS, AGENTS, etc.; and for the faithful perform- 
ance of all such duties all its Capital aud Surplus are liable. 


ALL TRUST INVESTMENTS ARE KEPT SEPA- 
RATE AND APART PROM THE ASSETS OF THE 
COMPANY. 

INCOME OOLLECTEl) AND REMITTED. 


INTEREST ALLOWED ON MONEY DEPOSITS. 


SAFES IN ITS BURGLAR-PROOF VAULTS 
FOR RENT. 


The protection of its Vaults for the preservation of 
WILLS offered gratuitously. 

Gold and Silver.-PIate, Deeds, Mortgages, etc., received 
for safe-keeping under guarantee. 


LINDLEY SMYTH, President. 
HENRY N. PAUL, VICE-PRESIDENT. 
JARVIS MASON, TRUST OFFICER. 
WM P. HENRY, Seo-y and Treas. 

WM. L. BROWN, JR., ASS'T SEC'Y AND TreAS. 


ID CTOI2-S . 


Lindley Smyth, 

Henry n. Paul, 
Alexander Biddle, 
Anthony J. AntelO, 
Charles S. Lewis, 
Charles W. Wharton, 
Edward 


Edward H. Coates, 
Peter O. Hollis, 
John R. Fell, 
William W. Justiob, 
Oraioe Lippincott, 
Georqe W. Ohilds, 
8. Buckley. 




TOOTH 




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U SED AND RECOMMENDED by Meissonier, Kaul- 
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nent artists throughout the world. The 

Johann Faber Siberian Lead Pencils. 

None genuine unless stamped Johann Faber. For sale 
by all stationers amd dealers in Artists’ Materials. 

gUEEN & CO., PHILADELPHIA, 

General Agents for the U.S« 





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Parlor 

Mirrors, 

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Etchings, 

Paintings, 

Easels, 

Pedestals, 

Picture 

Frames, etc. 


806 Market Street. 


Sporting and Athletic Manufacturers, 
Importers, and Dealers. 


A. J. REACH & CO., 

1022 Market Street, 
F^HIIvADELPHIA, PA. 

“Friction” rowing 
machines, leather- 
covered rings, ropes 
with attachments, 
white kid profession- 
al boxing gloves, 

“Solinger’ fencing- 
goods, adjustable In- 
dian clubs, polished 
maple and iron ja- 
panned dumb-bells. 

All-wool, one-quar- 
ter or long-sleeve ath- 
letic shirts and sweat- 
ers, fine Kangaroo 
top, felt sole, ” easy” 
low shoes, etc. 

Reach’s Gymna-^ 
sium Show-Room, 
containing over five 
thousand dollars’ 
worth of apparatus 
and appliances for the advancement of physical 
education, on exhibition at 1022 Market Street, Phila- 
delphia, second floor. 

Upon application Illustrated Catalogue will go 
forward free. 

The “ O.K.” Machine is endorsed by all physi- 
cians who are using it and have seen it; it will de- 
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“Manual on Physical Culture’’ sent free. 

A. J. REACH & CO. 



REMINGTON 

Standard Typewriter. 



Miss M. E. Orr. Kemington. 

WON 


COLD MEDAL 

AND 

SILVER MEDAL 

FOR 

CHAMPIONSHIP OF 
THE WORLD, 

At Toronto f August 13, 18SS* 

OFFICIAL REPORT. 

“On General Writing— law, evidence, and com- 
mercial matter— *Miss M. E, Orr won the Gold Medal 
for the Championship of the World. *Mr. McGurrin 
won the Silver Medal in the same class. 

* Roth Miss Orr and Mr. McGurrin used the Remington Type- 
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'WYGKOrr, SEAMANS & BENEDICT, 



Superior to Silk or Wool. 

A Protection against Colds, Neu- 
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SOLD BY LEADING MERCHANTS. 





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" ?P?PFFP',HFP;^FPFFr^g»-??>?r>gg ^gg^p-p?W 



Capital, $250,000.00. Assets, $736,082.55. 

THE FIDELITY AND CASUALTY GO. 

214-2x6 BROADWAV, NEW YORK. 

This Company, in its Fidelity Department, issues Bonds of Suretyship for Employees of Corpora- 
tions and for Persons in positions of trust, such as Administrators, Guardians, etc. 

In its Casualty Department it issues Accident, Plate Glass, and Boiler Insurance Policies. 

The history of this Company for the last ten years gives assurance that it is carefully and conserva- 
tively managed, and that it is especially liberal and prompt in the settlement of losses. 

The steady progress of the Company is indicated by the following table : 


Year. 

Gross Assets. 

Cash Income. 

Re-Insurance 

Reserve. 

Losses Paid. 

1881 

8382,341 ;70 

8186,302.93 

892,243.80 

866,770.96 

1883 

470,788.23 

384,561.58 

153,525.49 

114,002.51 

1885 

590,500.42 

477,925.41 

243,182.73 

192,258.''4 

1887 

642,221.32 

559,659.16 

300,843.04 ■ 

232,293.87 


AMOUNT OF DOSSES PAID TO DATE, $1,181,096,86 

ITS DIRECTORS ARE: 


GEO. S. COE, Pres. American Exchange Nat. Bank. 
J. S. T. STRANAHAN, Pres. Atlantic Dock Co. 

A. E. ORR, of David Dows & Co. 

G. G. WILLIAMS, Pres. Chemical National Bank. 

J. ROGERS MAXWELL, Pres. C. R. R. of N. J. 

A. B. HULL, Retired Merchant. 

H. A. HURLBUT, Pres. Commiss’ers of Emigration. 


J. D. VERMILYE, Pres. Merchants’ Nat. Bank. 
JOHN L. RIKER, of J. L. & D. S. Riker. 

J. G. McCullough, Pres. Panama Railway Co. 
T. S. MOORE, of Moore, Low & Wallace. 

WM. M. RICHARDS, President. 

GEO. F. SEWARD, Vice-President. 


OFFICERS : 

WM. M. RICHARDS, President. ROBT. J. HILDAS, Secretary. 

GEO. F. SEWARD, Vice-President. CAPEL E. LE JEUNE, Actuary. 












h : 










LCOCK’^I 


TOR0U5 jSTANDARtteD' 


HE’ 




lASTtlV 






v.\VV.\JS 


ForWee^kSd^ck, 

Kheuma.Hsm. 

Sc id^licex ,Pul mo n 
^nd Kidney DiFficuIties, 
Alc^.rid..Dys[)ef)sid..Liver d.n;" 


5toma.ch Affections,Wea.k Auscles,Lumb6.^o 
5f ravins, Stitcher a.nds,!! Loca.1 Panins' 

ASK FOR ’aULCOCK’S & LET NO EXPLANATION OR 
SOLICITATION INDUCE YOU TO ACCEPT A SUBSTITUTE. 




TV^ISCEL-L-KNEOUS 

Great Strength 

Is not required to do washing and house clean- 
inor when it is done with PEARLINE. 

o' 

With Pearline, a delicate woman can do 
this hardest of woman’s work with compar- 
ative ease. She don’t have to rub herself or 
her clothes to pieces when she washes in 
this new way. ’ You will find these labor- 
saving directions oneverypackage, and one 
trialwill convince you that in PEARLINE 
you have found the most improved 
means and method for all washing 
and cleaning. Millions are using it. 

Peddlers and 
Trj some unscrupu- 

VV CH lous grocers are 

offering imita- 
tions which they claim to be Pearline, or“ the 
same as Pearline." IT’S FALSE — they are not 
and besides are dangerous. PEARLINE is never 
peddled, but sold by all good grocers. 

123 Manufactured only by JAMES PYLE, New York. 



THE 

KODAK 
OAMERA 

A process by which PERFECT PICTURES 

may be made by persons who have not the si 
est knowledg^e of the art of Photography, is 
presented by this NOVEE and WONDERFUL 
CAMERA. It has 

NO EQUAL AS A TOURISTS’ CAMERA, 

and if you are going South, or to Enrope, or if 
you propose attending any of the great Winter 
Carnivals, you should not fail to include a 
“ KODAK’’ in your outfit. 

Each Camera is supplied with a handsome russet 
leather carrying case with shoulder strap. It is 
Always Ready, and One Hundred instanta- 
neous views are made simply by pressing: a 
But ton. A valuable collection of beautiful winter 
scenes may be readily secured by its use. The 
“KODAK” is but six and one-half inches in 
length and weighs less than two pounds. Its com- 
pactness adapts it for use by anybody, and its 
genuine, practical worth renders it popular with all. 

The Eastman Dry Plate and Film Co., 

ROCHESTER, N. T. 

Price, 935.00. Send for Descriptive Circulars. 34 


latest Sarisian tgovelt] 

ZZOTSRSSTZNO Z>ZS00VBRV 
or TM» 

ORIZA-PERFUMERYI 

Of 

laLEaEAlTD, 207, Me 8t-Eoaori, FAEZSI 

.12 delightful, 

Iconcrete Perlumesi 

IN THt rORII OF r 

Pencils and Pastilles 


To Perfume any article agreeably 
and instantaneouuy limplv rub the 
pencel or pastille of tomFeitaaa 
upon them lightly. 

HIT QF lOlID PESFUMH 1 
Violette da Czar. 

Jasmin d’Espagad, 

EdUotrope blano, 

Lilas de Mai. 

New Mown haj, 

Onza Ija. 

Jookej-ClttJ) Bouqurt. 

Opoponax ta. 

Caroline la. 

Mlgnardlse la. 

ImpiratrJce u. 

Otiia Derby m, 

ib^aued Ch2m 

»« htm ftr tti U.8.;PAHK ft TllFORD, in/illh^. 


TVYISCELLKNEOUS 


THE FINEST HIGH GRADE SMOKING MIXTORES. 


The scarcity of Virginia Plug during the war caused an increased demand for 
fine smoking tobacco, and the idea was conceived by a Northern manufacturer to pre- 
pare the plug by cutting and packing in tin boxes. Plug when so cut was considered 
the best article for pipe-smoking until the invention of Vanity Fair in 1867, which 
was manufactured direct from the finest selected leaf by a process unknown to any 
but the manufacturers, but, like all good things, now largely imitated. The addition 
of Turkish, Perique, and Latakia tobacco has had the effect of furnishing smokers 
with various pleasing changes, and they became aware that all tobaccos are not alike, — 
for it is not the finest-looking that make the most agreeable smoke, nor is it an indica- 
tion of a good article because it is claimed to be made of “ finest Virginia leaf,” for it 
is safe to say that there are nearly as many varieties of leaf as there are different 
counties growing tobacco. It is our aim to produce as uniform an article as possible ; 
though the greatest care is taken in buying leaf for fine smoking-tobacco, it is a neces- 
sity that the right kind of leaf only be used when the tobacco is manufactured. When 
the workmen make up the “ casing,” every leaf is carefully opened and examined, and 
it not unfrequently happens that a portion of the leaf is rejected. 

A mixture of the various kinds of Virginia and North Carolina leaf makes an 
excellent smoke ; the same with an addition of Perique produces an entire change ; 
and again, with the addition of Turkish the smoker will discover a pleasing difference. 
Turkish and Perique make an excellent smoke ; Virginia and Perique is a fine mixture. 
Turkish alone is very mild, though when blended with various kinds of Turkish leaf 
an improvement will be discovered and it will always be a favorite with pipe-smokers. 
Latakia is but little used in this country, and when it can be procured in good 
quality is very much liked. Of those who try it for the first time, many will be 
pleased no doubt with the change and find in it a new companion. Perique when 
used alone makes a strong smoke, but when used in mixtures is very desirable, though 
much depends on the selection of the carrottes, and like all other tobaccos it is manu- 
factured in inferior grades as well. The finest is generally the best cured, and in the 
curing the keeping qualities are dependent. 

Havana leaf is only at its best when smoked in a cigar ; when smoked in a pipe it 
will not be found at all satisfactory. 

There are many other kinds of tobacco used for smoking purposes, but those grown 
in America are without doubt the best for pipe use, and with the long experience in 
the purchase and handling of leaf, it can readily be seen where the best article is 
produced. 

All dry tobaccos are liable to bite the tongue, so, to prevent this, tobacco should 
be moist. A convenient porcelain jar of our invention, with cell in the cover for a 
sponge, serves to hold tobacco in the best possible condition. 


HIGHEST AWARD AT BRUSSELS, 1888. 
15 FIRST PRIZE MEDALS. 
ESTABLISHED 1846. 


W. S. KIMBALL A CO., 

Manufacturers of Fine Cigarettes and Tobacco, 

ROCHESTER, N, Y, 


35 




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STKTIOrSlERVLrf^!:^^ 

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A. W. FABER’S 


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FAMOUS 

LEAD PENCILS, 

UNEQUALLED IN 
QUALITY 

THE OLDEST AND BEST 
OF ALL PENCILS. 

HOUSE FOUNDED IN 1761. 

PEN HOLDERS 

RUBBER 

ERASERS. 

PENCIL 

SHARPENERS. 

If you cannot obtain 
these Goods at Stationers, 
send 30 cts. for samples of 
same. 

FABER’S PATENT 

PENCIL 

COMPASSES. 

SAMPLES, IS CTS. 


FOR SALE EVERYWHERE. 


J. 


B. Lippincott Company’s 

EXTRA QUALITY STEEL PENS. 


OUB BEST-SliI,I,ma EUMBEBS. 


FOE/ S^XjF 'BIT JuJTJZj ST^A-TIOEFES. 


Price, 75 Cents Per Gross. 


J. B. LIBBINCOTT COMB^NY, 


PHILADELPHIA 

Rfi 








TV^ISCELL-KNEOUS 

ii 


H r* r* Hr' r-^ J-^ r-'r-'r^ p ,_k ^ pj r- ,U V* , . fS 


Hrtistic Mhntel Co. 


1931 MARKET STREET. 



nnriyu ■ • MM « « au K n ■ ■ 

a.^ iRIi a a a a a u a a 

Lgaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanaa 



FRANKLIN 

PRIITING INK WORKS, 

JOHN WOODRUFF’S SONS, 


Have the Finest and Largest 
Stock of 

Mantels, Hall Seats, 
Hall Racks, 
Panellings, 

Wainscotings. 

••• 

• 

WE INVITE INSPECTION. 
CORRESPONDENCE SOLICITED. 
ESTIMATES CHEERFULLY 
FURNISHED. 

TheWONDERFUL 

WLUBURe B 

Combining a Parlor, Library, Smok* 
Ing, Reclinina, or Invalid CHAIR. 

LOUNGE, BED. and 

or COUCH. Price 9# ■vV op. 
We make the largest variety of 
Adjustable, Reclining, Physicians' 
and Surgeons’ Operating, Invalid 
Rolling, Hammock, Office, Library. 
Fancy Carpet Folding, Reed and Rattan CHAIRS and 
ROCKERS BICYCLES, TRICYCLES.VE- 
LOCIPEDES and SELF PROPELLERS. 



1S17 and. 1219 Cherry Street, 

rmLASSLFEIA, FA 


This Magazine is printed with John Woodruff’s Sons’ Ink. 


Beautiful hikI Lasting for ORNAMENTING 
WINDOWS, DOORS, TRANSOMS, Etc. 



SUBSTITUTE 

AT SMALL COST. Send for Illustrated Catalogue 
and Prices Samples by mail, 25 cents. 

Vnildll^ Sole Agent. 934 Arch St., 
b. TUUIlU. PHILADELPHIA, PA. 
Agents Wanted Everywhere. . 


ALL KINDS OF APPLIANCES FOR INVALIDS. 

R ABY QOACHES 

Over 100 different desigas. 

Our Patent Automatic Brake on all Car. 
riagefi, free. We have discontinued 
wholesaling; by placing your orders 
direct with the makers you can save 
eeveral profits. Our slashing prices 
and special Bargains will astonish/ 
you. Goods sold under a guarantee f 
and delivered free t;* any point in 

United States. Sbjd stamp for 

Catalogue, and state class of goods yon wish it for. 

LUBURC MFC. CO. 

1.45 North Eighth Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 



MX SmiKEO Gtass 

FOR 

CHURCHES AND DWELLINGS. 

WZLXjIAi-IvI: I2.EITI3:, 
134 H. 7th St, Philadelphia, Pa. 






PKNGY GOODS 



STATIONERY •*» FANCY GOODS DEPARTMENT 


J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 




Photograph Cases, 
Paravents, 


Photograph Screens, 
Manicure Cases, 


^^^NNOUNCE their new and elegant 
collection of Domestic and Euro- 
pean Fancy Goods, and it will be found 
to comprise the latest Novelties in 


Artistic Bronzes, 

Fine Decorated China, 

Lamps, Onyx Tables, 

Inkstands, Bisque Figures, 
Brass Easels, 

Fine Leather Goods, 

Dressing Cases, 

Smokers’ Sets and Tables, 
Opera Glasses, 

Writing Tablets, 

Plush Toilet and Combination 
Cases, 

Fancy Scrap Baskets, 

Plush Shaving Sets, 

Photograph Albums, 
Writing Desks, Whisk Holaers, 
Work Boxes, etc., etc. 


715 AND 717 MAEKET STREET, PHILADELPHIA. 

on ^ 







HOW TO BE BEAUTIFUL. 


complexion as beautifully fresh and 
charming as the blush of the Rose. It 
has stood the test for over twenty-five 
years, and is unequalled to-day. 

The celebrated and unrivalled Ve- 
loutiue Face powders ; in colors for 
all complexions ; the finest in the world ; 
at 50 cents and $1.00 per box. Highest 
medals awarded. 

The Medicatetl Olo ves, for beau- 
tifying the hands ; superior to all others ; 
$1.50 and $2.00 per pair. 

The only genuine Auburnine will change the hair without injury to that beautiful Titian Red 
now so much admired. $2.00 per bottle. Illustrated catalogues free. 

We have in our possession thousands of unsoiicited testimonials from ladies all over the world, prais- 
ing the merits of these preparations; but all matters are treated strictly confidential, and no names will 
ever be published. 

Thousands of ladies all over the world owe their fresh and clear complexions to these wonderful preparations. 
All letters strictly confidential and promptly answered. Catalogues mailed free. 

L. Shaw is also the inventor of Skeleton Waves and Bang's. Patented November 15, 1887. 
Feather-light, life-like, and beautiful ; cannot be'detected. At this establishment only. Infringers will be 
duly prosecuted. 

L. SHAW, Wholesale and Retail, 54 W. 14th St., New York City. 

The above Cosmetics can also be had at GEO. EVANS, il06 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa.; J. 
HANEY, 203 North Charles Street, Baltimore, Md. ; J. ROCHON, 537 15th Street, Washington, D.C., 

And Principal Dry and Fancy Goods Dealers throughout the Country. 


Fugeiiie's Secret of Beauty, 

or C. B., $1.00 per box. 

L. Shaw’s world-renowned prepara- 
tion, made from the milk of the cocoa- 
nut and other equally harmless and 
beneficial ingredients, will impart to the 
most sallow skin the bloom of health 
and beauty, particularly when used in 
connection with The Extract of 
Turkish Rose Eeaves, the indeli- 
ble tint for the lips and face, — price, 
$1.00 and $1.50 per bottle, — rendering the 




A OOLDEN.OIFT. 




iBveryperson sendlngns 95 c. fora 
Icbree months subscription to the 
IlliliVSTRATEU C 09 IPAJV. 
|(OJV willreceiveasan Absolute 
■Free Gift this Elegnnt Par* 
llsian Diamond Bing repre- 
bented bythlsillustratlon. Thisrlng 
•is ofanew and verybeautiful pattern 
guaranteed Solid Rolled Gold Plate and will wear 
well. The stone with which It Is set Is very clear, brilliant 
and sparkling. This ring is of such value that any lady pos« 
sesslnglt will 6 e the envy of all her friends as It Istoall 
appearances a very valuable article. Send a slip of paper 
the size of the Bing you wish. The IDEIISTRATED 
COniPAlVlOlV Is a large G 4 col., 16 page paper 
finely Illustrated by full page engravings of artistic merit 
and contains Stories, Sketches, Anecdotes, Witand Humor, 
andin factall that goes to make upacompletefamilypub- 
llcation. Wherever Itisoncetaken it is universally popu- 
lar. We know you will like it. The regular price 
is Sl«OU per year. The above described Parisian 
Di amend Ring in a Fine Velvet Lined Case, and the 
IliV^VSTRATED COMPARTIOV for three months for 
S 9 & cts. istoollberaian oflfertobepassedby. Fullgat* 
Isfaction gnaranteod. This is a special offer 
so WRITE TO-DAY. Cnt this out and send with 
order, a Club of Five for $ 1 . 00 . Stamps taken. 

E> F. N ASONf^Publlsher* III Nassau St; N.Y 



NOVELTY SPOOL HOLDER, 

WITH THREAD-CUTTER ATTACHED. 

Fastens to dress button while knitting, 
crocheting, or sewing. Made of silvered 
spring wire. Fits any size spool. Every 
lady needs it. Sample, 15c. ; 2 for 25c. ; 
doz. 75c. Stamps taken. Agents wanted. 
STA YNER «fc CO., Providence, R.I. 

Jit. A^ihuru Instittife. Established 1856. 

Family School for Young Ladies. History and Literature 
a specialty. Careful Home Training and Social Culture. 
Music and Art. Advantages of Cincinnati made available to 
pupils. European Va ation parties. 

‘ Address H. THANE MILLER, Cincinnati, Ohio. 

Al 00 Domestic Type- Writer. Sold ist yr. 1,000 
vi. at $5 ; 2d, 25,000 at $2. Now at $i sales are im- 
mense. aC^logue, Sample Work, and Testimonials 

free. 


-Catalogue, bample work, ana xesumon 
IL S. INGERSOLL, 46 Cortlandt St., N. Y. 


American Lead Pencil Co/s 

(21 MERCER STREET. NEW YORK) 

THE LATEST PATENT PENCIL. 


For sale at J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY'S, 
Upon receipt of 30 cents in stamps one dozen will be 
mailed. 


(4 

> 

Hi 

l=> 

N 

H 

HI 

Hi 

14 




n°N'T' BUY 

A PHOTO • OUTFIT, 

UNTIL YOU HEAR FROM US . 
CATALOGUES MAILED FREE. 
DRAUGHTSMENS; rS ^ n 

• ThoS' H*M9Col’lin 8rCo- 

• 635 • ARCH ST ■ PHILADELPHIA 


CQ 

E-t 

cq 

O 

o 

c- 


<1 

pq 


New Jersey, Freehold. 

The Young Ladies' Seminary 

^ J advantages 

in its family life and course of study. Music, Art, Elo- 
cution, and Gymnastics. Pupils will be admitted to 
Smith, Vassar, and Wellesley, on certificate of the 
Principal. Miss Eunice D. Sewall. 

JUST WHAT YOU WANT POE A CHSIST- 
MAS OB WEDDIITQ FBESEITT. 

Brass Tjiblgs 

With Onyx Tops, Large Variety. 

The Joseph Neumann Co., Ltd. 

N. W. Cor. lltli and Race, 

PHILADELPHIA, PA. 

Write for Catalogue. 






f-» rJ r> r* r- r* H d . i: :; ' r' r', gic^ 

TV^ISCELLKNEOUS ^^1 

1 ^ ^ ^ ;:iP ' ^ - ^ i:^rpr?:»pr^gygg :g:gg ^pf?-K?p-Frpp 




ONLY WHEN THE UPS DISPLAY PRETTY TEETH. 


The shells of the ocean yield no pearl that can ex- 
ceed in beauty teeth whitened and cleansed with 
that incomparable dentrifice, fragrant 



ESTABLISHED 1801. 

Barry’s 

Tricopherous 

FOR 

THE HAIR. 

No composition yet dis* 
covered for the growth 
and beauty of the Hair 
has met with such signal 
success as Barry’s Tri- 
copherous. It is universally used throughout the world, 
and all speak in praise of its great worth. It is very 
pleasant to use, and gives the Hair a peculiarly rich 
gloss, entirely preventing baldness. 

BARCLAY & CO,, 44 Stone St., New York. 



SOLID gQLD SPECTACLES®3V 




..Eje-Olossessame price, 
lenses, usual pj:ioe-^5.< 
send a pair^ofmxr SoT 
Send us /nur old glasses^ 
them return them wii 
send you a mailing-box so 
If JQKT old glasses don't 
we will furnish free a mt 


Thl4 method of fitting 
or mo^Qey refunded. 
IntenOea solely to 


PATENTS 


our celebrated '• Duiianta’' 
) UpohVec§ipt-«£.,A3.5(jL wo will 
old Spept^les oinSi^'Qlasses. 
mail, wyll take your exahi size frona 
the ae'n ones. ^ Upon requ^ wj^wiil 
u can \ifcly mail us your oio^lasses. 
It, or irtou have never worn glasses, 
sure for toting your eyesight ^ntctly. 


es never fail\ Satisfaciion'gua/ante^ 
Is offer for a fkj^ted time OB]yj^ ft ia 
troduce the goods fots<jur whol^gle trade. 

& BRO.> Opticians, r3^''75outh 9tts 
hiladelphia^ Pa. Sole Manufacturers. 

THOMAS P. SIMPSON, WaBhington, 
D.C. No attorney’s fee until Patent 
obtained. Write for Inventor’s Guide. 


S UORT^HAN D Catalogue of 

ELF-TAUCHT Self-Instruction by 
BENN PITMAN and JEROME B. HOWARD, 
to The Phonographic Institute, Cincinnati, Ohio. 


Which hardens and invigorates the GUMS, purifies 
and perfumes the BREATH, beautifies and preserves 
the TEETH, from youth to old age. 

One bottle of Sozodont will last six months. 


Beautilul Holiday Gifts, Fine Instruments and 
easily acUusted to window. Send orders early. Cat- 
alogues free. The G. J. Holbrook Co., 

88 Fifth Ave., New York* 



T cood news 

JS LADIES. 

Greatest inducements ever of- 
fered. Now’s your time to get up 
orders for our celebrated Teas 
and Coflees.and secure a beauti- 
ful Gold Band orMoss Bose China 
Tea Set, or Handsome Decorated 
rold Band Moss Rose Dinner Set, or Gold Band Moss 
Decorated Toilet Set. For full particulars address 
„ THE GREAT AMERICAN TEA CO., 

P. O. Box %9. 81 and 33 Yesey St., New Y<»k. 



THE BRYANT SCHOOL FOR 


For the thorough correction and cure of all defects of speech. 

Pupils sent to this school by Drs. Wm A. Hammond, Seguin, 
Lusk, and other sp-‘cialists. For inlormatiou, testimonials 
from eminent men and pupils, address F. A Bryant. 9 West 
14th Street, N.Y (Associate and successor to I R Aldrich.) 


IHKh 


1 BLACK 

VIOLET 

1 PINK 

RED 

GREEN 


You can make It yourself witiiout the slightest trouble, and at a 

saving of 200 per cent, with WALPOLE INK POWDERS, 


information by circular, ^roe by mail. Address, ’4 

WALPOLE DYE AND CHEMICAL COMPANY, 
> 1 19 Milk St., Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 


WnWrTA by the Author of LOGOMACHY. 

lilUli U 1 llj The best card games ever published. 
Ask dealers for them, or send 50 cents for copy of 
either by mail. Copyrighted and published by 

F. A. WRIGHT, Cincinnati, O. 

BONE MEAL. GRAN- 
ULATED BONE, and 
_ CRUSHED OYSTER- 
SHELLS. 4®^Send for Samples and Price-List. 

YORK CHEMICAL WORKS, York, Pa. 


POULTRY. 


Warren 



Heal Waists 


The most healthful garment yet made in corset form. 

in Confederate Money sent for 25 cents, or SlOO 
UliyU forio cents. T, S. CRAYTON, Anderson, S. C. 


40 


“ Best cure for colds, coughs, and consumption is the old 
Vegetable Pulmonary Balsam.” Cutler Bros., & Co., 
Boston. For $l by mail, a large bottle sent express paid. 



BRIGGS PIANOS 



Graceful in Design, 
Thorough in Construction, 
Matchless in Tone. 

A CELEBRATED COMPOSER’S 
OPINION. 

“ Hydr Park, March 23, 1887. 

“ C. C. Briggs & Co. 

“ I am much pleased with the piano 
I purchased of you for my music-room. 
The tone and action are both excellent, 
and it keeps in tune remarkably. 

“L. O. EMERSON.” 


c. o. BE^ia-G-s Sd 

, 5 Appleton Street, Boston, Mass,, U, S, A, 


The Best Chair in the “ Wide, Wide World.” 

AN ELEGANT HOLIDAY PRESENT' 



Look at this Picture 
of Solid Comfort, and 
then go or send to 
930 Broadway, New York 

(Bet. 21sc and 22d Sts.), 

and buy a Marks Ad- 
justable Chair. Think 
of it! A Parlor, Libra- 
ry, Smoking, Reclin- 
ing, or Invalid Chair, 
Lounge, Full-Length Bed, and Child’s Crib Com- 
bined, and adjustable to any position requisite for 
comfort and convenience. Address 


MARKS A. F. CHAIR CO. 



Most convenient desk made. When using a “ Wooton” 
desk work becomes a real pleasure. As a Cliristnias gift, 
nothing could be more useful or longer remembered. For 
the olflce or home. 125 styles of desks and tables, from 
S5 toS450. Thousands of “ Wooton” desks are imw in use 
in all parts of the civilized world. GEO. SPENi ER & CO., 
Manufacturers of OfiBce, Church, and School Furniture. 
Salesrooms, 926 Arch Street, Philadelphia, U.S.A. 


WOOTON ROTARY DESKS. 


HOUSEHOLD NECESSARIES 

ASK YOUR LOCAL DEALERS FOR THEM. 


NO HOME CAN AFFORD 
TO BE WITHOUTTHEM 



INOnOROUS 
BEDROOM commode. 



BEDROOM 

CONVENIENCE. 



AUTOMATIC 
AND DUSTLESS. 


DR. SABIN’S PATENT 
FOLDING SITZ AND FOOT BATH. 


Send 6c. for 24-pag4lllustrated Catalogue of Earth Closets ; 5c. for “Healthy Homes: How to Have Them,” 36 pages valuable Infor- 
mation ; FREE, “ mStIcal UsKS OP THE .SiTZ AJiD Foot Bath ” HEAP’S PATENT EARTH CLOSET CO., Muskegon, Mich. 
Depots in Frinoipal Cities. DEPOT FOB NEW YOKK CITY, SARGEN r MFG. CO . 8U and 816 BROADWAY. 

F. ALONZO IIURGER, Sperint Affatit, 4 Vi'i I’oweltou Avenue, cor 42d St , IVest Philadelphia. 
Down-Town Depot, GEO. VEALE, jR., Plumbers’ Supplies, 21 North Sixth Street. 





, . _7VnSCEL-L-MNE:OUS 



DUPLICATE 

WEDDING 

PRESENTS, 

which brides frequently receive, we buy outright or 
exchange for more serviceable articles. Bargains 
without number coming in this way we sell at half 
the cost to manufacture. 

Our stock includes not only everything in silver- 
ware from a Tea-Set to a Napkin-Ring, but also DIA- 
MONDS, WATCHKS, ANTIQUE SILVER, JEW- 
ELRY, and BRONZES. Stamp for Price-List. 

We invite careful inspection, and will send goods 
for examination all over the United States and Can- 
ada. 

OLD GOLD. 

Old-fashioned and worn jewelry and silver accu- 
mulate in every household. If you will send us 
what is useless, we Avill exchange it for more ser- 
viceable articles, or send a certified check for its 
full value. 

JEWJ^LLERS’ SAWDUST for cleansing and 
keeping your gems bright. Send 12 cents for box. 
Full directions. 

JOHNSTON & SON, 

150 Bowery, ST. Y. 



MaRTGABE company; 


Capital Subscribed . • • Si2,000,000.00 

('apital Paid in (Cash) . 1,000.,000.00 

Surplus and Undivided Profits, J 15,444.8^2 

Assets 4,035,945.^25 

6 PER CENT. DEBENTURES. 

Secured by First Mortgages held in trust by the 
American Loan and Trust Company of New York, and 
further secured by the capital and assets of the Equit- 
able Mortgage Company. 

SIX PER CENT. GUARANTEED FARM MORTGAGES. 


5 and 6 per cent. Savings Bonds, running Three Months 




45.000 
I MADE. 


FINEST 

,. - T O N E 
MATERJALS 


SMERS'GN PIANO C0.BOSTONMASS. 


DIXON’S AMERICAN GRAPHITE 

Pencils are unequalled for smooth, tough leads. If your 
stationer does not keep them, mention Lippincott’s 
Magazine and send i6cts. in stamps to the Joseph Dixon 
Crucible Co., of Jersey City, N. J., for samples worth 
double the money. 

J 99 ROSES, AMUUiTAT MAY BLOSSOM, EUXE- 
/I NIA, Heliotrope, and Jockey Club are favorites 
among Stearns’ Fine Perfumes, which are une- 
qualled in fragrance, permanence, and delicacy. 
Four sizes, 10c., 25c., 50c., and $1.00. STEARNS’ SACHETS 
surpass all in elegance and fragrance; 25c. and 50c. packages. 
STEARNS’ FACE POWDER is superb; 10c., 25c., and 50c. 
sizes. Sold by all druggists. Trial samples mailed for 10c. in 
stamps, all regular sizes on receipt of price. Mention paper. 

F. STEARNS & CO., Detroit, Michigan. 


P0NDEJ?l% 


WEAUTtmi. ’ 


Honestly AMP 

ETeganty 


t '/Aceui^TE.v 
TiMeKEEPEK 


In Special Solid white-Metdl Case^;’ 

JlewYofkStandardVfatcl) 


to Iwo Years. 

OFFICES; 

New York, 208 Broadway. I Phila., Cor. 4th and Ches’t St. 
Boston, 117 Devonshire St. | London, England. 

SEND FOR PAMPHLET. 


Mr to a Bay. Samples worth S1.50 FREE. 
Lines not under the Horse’s feet. Write BREW* 
STER SAF ETY REIN HOLDER CO., HOLLY, W ICH. 

Sample DU. X. STONE’S BROKC'iniL WAFERS. 
Best Remedy for Throat and Lungs. Agents 
Wanted. STONUaiEDlGlNECO., Quincy, lillnoU. 


H O R T H A IM I^Writing^ftoroMp/iify taught 

mail or personally. 
Itnations prociireil for pupils when competent, 
end for circular. W. G. CH A KFE E. Oswego, N.Y. 


PLAYS 


Dialogues, Tableaux, Speakers, for 
School. Club A Parlor. Best out. Cata- 
logue free. T. S. Denison, Chicago, 111, 


MUSIC 

SELF 


8EL.F-TEACII- 

INCi 8Y8TE1YI. All can learn music 
without the aid of a teacher. Rapid, correct. 
'TATTr'TTrri ^®tablished 12 jcars. Notes.ohords.accom- 
XAUCyill. paniments, thorough-bass laws, etc. Stamp 
for Music Journal. Circulars free. 

G. S. R lUK lYITJ.mO CD., 243 State St., Chicago. 


LIPPINCOTT’S MAGAZINI 


rearly Subscription, 
$3.00 





rffvwn mcstipcfif/smii/a- 


I S^.BIARDQT «n-PAR(SV 


IN GLASS OR WOOD, 

FULLY EQUALto the/ 

BEST IMPORTED/ 


RECOMMENDED 

BY OUR BEST 

PHYSICIANS. 


FOR SALE BY ALL 

• FIRST CLASS- 

GROCERS & 
DEALERS. 




SYRACUSM 


Send $1.25, $2.10, or $3.50 

for a sample retail box, by Express, 
of the best candies in America, put up 
in elegant boxes, and strictly pure. 
Suitable for presents. Express charges 
prepaid east of Denver. Refers to all 
Chicago. Try it once. Address 

C. P. Gunther, Confectioner, 

CHICAGO. 


PROPRIETMRY KRXICL-ES 

The. Finest and. Purest Product. 

MOTXET’S PRIZE MEDAL 

OImIVE oil, 

from the famed and extensive plantations of the Messrs. 

Mottet, La Grasse (Alps Maritimes), France. 




Awarded the Highest 
Prizes at the 
World’s Fairs of 
Paris and London, and 
at the h. S. 
Centennial Exposition, 
Philadelphia, 1876, 
two Medals and 
Highest Award for 
Purity, Fineness of 
Quality, and Perfection 
of Manufacture. 


The Neck of each 
Bottle is surrounded 
by a thread, 
at the end of which 


Metal Locket, 
on which is printed 
and impressed a 
representation of the 
Gold Medal of 1861. 


F, A. REICHARD, Importer. 

CHAS. W. NOLEN, Importer’s Agent, 

IIS Chestmit Street, PhiladeljpHUt. 


READY FOR USE" 

REQUIRE ONLY WARMING, 


GREEN TURTLE TERRAPIN • 
jC;HICKEN•MULUGATAWNY• 
HOCKTURTLE QX TAIL- 
CONSOMME FRENCH SDUILLON 
TOMATO - BE AIM • PEA • 
JULIENNE PR INTAN I ER 
x, MUTTON BROTH- BEEF- 
^ VEGETABLE OKRA CUM BO 


/N CLASS OJf /Af CAMS. 


SERVED OW ALU PULLMAN 
XnD B. & O. BUFFET CARS. 


We ask for a trial and a comparison 
with any other goods. The goods 
will speak for themselves. 

Send us 14 cents In stamps, 101 Warren Street, 
New York, and receive a sample can your choice. 

Sold by the leading GROCERS in the 
United States and Canada. 

Please mention Lippincott’s. 




M 


ILApELp,hl/\ 


KING CF CONDIMENTS 


THIS SEASONING ismade of the granulated leaves 
of fragrant sweet herbs and choice selected spices, having all 
the flavors that can be desired, thereby saving the trouble of 
having to use a dozen different kinds of herbs and. spices in 
order to give the proper flavor. Full directions with.each can. 
Used by all leading Hotels. If your Grocer or Mar- 
ketman does not keep it, send JiO Cents for large-size can 
by mail, post paid. 

Beware of Spurious articles put on the market by un- 
principled dealers in imitation of Bell’s Seasoning. 
IF. G. JBEZjF *jL- CO., Poston, JIass. 










1 

1 

i] 

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w 

TVtiSCEL-LKNEOUS 





GROWN 


TYPEWRITER. 

A COMPLETE PRACTICAL MACHINE 
AT A MODERATE PRICE. 


Typewriter Headquarters 


IVEW YORK, CHICAGO. 


70 


—IS — 

The best place to buy aWriting Machine 
of any make. The largest variety of ' 
instruments in the world, at very 
low prices. 

MACHINES RENTED, 

sold, bought and exchang 
ed. Typewriter supplies, 
attachments, and nov- 
elties in abundance 


144 


BROABWAY, 


Address as 
above. 


liA SABLE 


N. Y. City. 


^Do not faiL 
^to write 
us. 


Chicag'o. 


e.onstuntly in sight. 

JPnt'S tvot'k eqnttl to jn’int. 

Mas •perfect aiigntJtent. 

Prints hath capitats ftnd. small letters. 
Mt manifolds jterfeetlg. 

Si tuple in eonstrtietlpn. 

Easily learnetl by €iny one. 

A.tlapted for hnsiness tise. 

This machine may be purchased with the priv- 
ilege of returning, at the expense of the purchaser, 
after 10 days’ trial, if not perfectly satisfactory, and 
the money will be refunded. Send for De'scrip- 
TIVE Pamphlet, which will be mailed free. 

NATIONAL METER COMPANY, 

SOLE MANUFACTURERS, 

252 Tiroadway^ New York. 

C. C. SHAYNE, 

Manufacturer of 

SEAL-SKIN 
GARMENTS, 

newest styles, and all lead- 
ing fashionable furs. 103 
Prince Street, New York. 
Fashion-Book mailed free. 
Send your address. 

Ph iladelph i a A.gen ey : 

1017 Chestnut Street. 
Chicago A-gency : 

103 State Street. 




“HOME EXERCISER’’A>»-^'^ai« Worker* 

and Sedentary People; Gentlemen, Ladies, and Youths; 
the Athlete or Invalid. A complete gymnasium. Takes 
up but 6 inches square floor-room; something new, scien- 
titic, durable, comprehensive, cheap. Send for circular. 

“Schools for Physical and Vocal Culture,” 16 
Eas* 14th street and 713 5lh Ave. N. Y. City. 
Prof D L. Dowd Wm. Blaikie, author of 
“ How to get Strong,” says of It : I never saw 
any other that I like.l half as well.” 



Send 10 cents for a copy of the PENMAN’S ART 
JOURNAL, or Sl.OO for one year, to 

B, T. AMES, 203 Broadway, Y. Y. 



UTTONHOLES! 


Buttonhole Attachment. 


Your Sewing Machine is not com- 
plete withou,t it. WITH IT you can 
make splendid Buttonholes in fraction 

of a minute, and more durable than hand-mad*:'. Price 
very low. Inclose stamp for full particulars, testimonials 
and samples of work. Mention this publication. The 
Smith & Egge Man'fg Co., i6 E. 14 th St., New York. 


STRONGEST 

In the world, 
ted No. 19 E string 


VIOLIN 


STRINGS 

Howe’s celebra- 
7 for Sl.OO; No. 


29 A, No. 39 D, No. 40 G, 20c. each ; Italian Mountain Gut 
Violin Strings, best strings made in Italy, 25c. ea h. 1235 
Old Violins and 600 varieties Violins, Violas, Cellos, and 
Bases, 75c. to $35(X). Violin Cases, Bows, Necks, Tops, 
Backs, Varnish, and all Fittings Music books for all 
instruments. Best assortment, lowest prices in America. 
Send for calalogue. ELIAS HOWE, 88 Court St., Boston. 


SHORT 


HANB PAMPHLET AND G MAIL 
lessons, half-course, TEN C'ENT.S.! 
Lingle’s College, 1431 Chestnut St., Phila.* 


8 


A Meriting thoroughly taught 

■ I iiiiiil or personally, 

ituntions procured for pupils when conipetent. 
end for circular. W. G. CHAFFEE, Oswego, N.Y. 


The Best Cure in the World for covghs. JJ 
colds, and consumption is Cutler Bros. & Co.’s 
well-known Boston Vegetable Pulmonary Balsam. 


THE BEST YET. 


We will send a large box, post-paid, by mail, con- 
taining just Sl.lO worth of cards, games, readings, 
fortune-telling apparatus, and an hundred other at- 
tractions for the young and old of every home, for 
only 25 cents, with circulars of other goods. Money 
returned quiokly if yon are not more than satis- 
fied. We have advertised ten years. Enough of 
amusement and instruction in the above to 
last for years. Address ^ 

S. M. BOWLKS, 

Bennington, Vermont. 



HE.FHd d.d,H EEEZH5E 


TVIISCEI^LHNEOVJS^ 


GOOD Steam Heating 

SAVES TOim HEALTH. 




Simplest in Con- 
struction. 


Largest Steaming 
Capacity. 

Greatest Economy 
in Fuel. 


MO ENGINEER 
OR SKILLED LABOR 
IS REQUIRED. 


MANUFACTURERS UNDER 

Fiske’s Patents. 


.A-O-EISTTS 

WANTED 

EVERYWHERE 


Send for new Illus- 
trated Catalogue and 
References. 


Duplex Steam Heater Co. 

No. 10 Barclay St, New York. 

Before buying a BOILER investigate the 


ll 


FURMAN 


Five Years in Use. 
Endorsed by Lead- 
ing Architects 
and Steam 
Fitters. 








IT IS 

THOROUGHLY 
RELIABLE, EASY 
TO RUN. MADE IN 
SIXTEEN SIZES. Book on 
Steam Heating mailed free. 

ADDRESS 

HERENDEEN MEG. CO., Geneva, N.Y. 



For Carriage, Sleigh, Sitting-room and Bedroom. 
Keep hot 8 to 13 hours without attention. 
Send for Circular to The Centennial Co., 
Box 5.30, Rye, N. Y. 


IMPROVED EXCELSIOR INCUBATOR 

.Simple, peiTecL imcl seil-regiilatiiig. Hiiii' 
W’ D ^ II u' 'lreils in successful operation. Send 6c for 
1 1 ) Circu-j( jj new Illustrated Catalogue. GKO. II. STAHL, 
■ H I«r» free.If patentee and Sole Mfr., Quincy, Illinois. 




HEATING 



THE SPENCE HEATER. 


SEND FOR PAMPHLET, 

Heating by Hot Water Circulation.' 


NATIONAL HOT WATER HEATER 00., 

lot m. mil Sq., I 4:1 S. Canal St., 
BOSTON. I CHICAGO. 



ARGAND 

BURNER. 


FOFi 01I<. 


J^ARGE WHITE 

W 


LIGHT,-65 

DLE POWER. 

ILL PIT ANY LAMP. 


CAN> 


45 


A bsolutely safe,— cannot ex- 
plode. 

A utomatic extinguisher.-no 

BLOWING OUT. 

A PERFECT CONSTRUCTION,— 
COOL, SIMPLE. 

A PERFECT WICK,— EASILY RE- 
NEWED. 

A PERFECT LIGHT, — STEADY,, 
SOFT, RESTS THE EYES. IT 
HAS NO EQUAL FOR PABLO R„ 
LIBRARY, STUDIES, CHURCHES, 

halls, stores, a single burn- 
er, WITH CHIMNEY, COMPLETE, 
$1.25, MAILED. 

LIBERAL DISCOUNT TO THE TRADE. 

NEW YORK BRASS CO , 1 Barclay St. 
ALEX. MORRISON, 118 South 7th St. 

CHICAGO : 

New York Brass Oo., 53 Dearborn St. 








rrhey^eusef^g 

^Pnv«»Scl,g5 
ai\d Aoaderni^ ' 


T^ad^all siz^s 
WtK Ash., Oak.apd 
BKOtValryutFraipes. , 


|(lif vsiiijg^c 

jieujYor^K^. 


Sec^apcf 2^as, 




'BLAckb'oard cloth, and silicate 


n y^.irs constant.usf fiTth^ Bo'ards of * 
NewYorii CJIV; and Pt\iladPipiMa is a . 
gtea^:Suffide,,Qt W’^rarix^^j^ 



^/l 





Quaker Chill Cake. 

Philadelphia’s Great Anti-Malarial Remedy. 

Quaker Cliill Cake has produced 
absolutely unparallelled results in 
curing malaria where every other 
conceivable effort to get cured has 
failed. There is no precedent with 
which it can reasonably be com- 
pared. It stands alone as the one 
thing that will rid the human sys- 
tem of the poison of malaria. It 
does not contain one particle of 
quinine, mercury, arsenic, nor any 
injurious substance. It acts gently 
and agreeably upon the stomach, 
liver, kidneys, and bowels (hence 
upon the blood), thoroughly cleans- 
ing them of all poisonous and malarious secretions, and restores 
the system to a healthy condition. 

Mr. Van Camp Bush, 4109 Walnut Street, Philadelphia, 
says : “ Members of my family have used Quaker Chill Cakes 
for Malaria with wonderful results. Some required but one 
and others two or three before the malarial symptoms were 
entirely eradicated. I regard this remedy as invaluable. They 
are easily taken and with no unpleasant effects w'hatsoever, 
as is the case from other remedies generally prescribed for 
Chills and Malaria.” 

Mr. C.W. Zeiber, Bookseller and Stationer,Third and Walnut 
Sts., Philadelphia, says : “I can sympathize most strongly with 
any and all victims of Malaria, for I had three years of absolute 
and almost uninterrupted misery. It seems like a miracle to me, 
but nevertheless I am thankful to say that since I took a few 
Quaker Chill Cakes I have not had one single symptom or mo- 
ment of distress.” ^ 

Mr. A. J. Lejambre. 927 Pine St., Philadelphia, says : “After 
suffering for two weeks with Chills and Fever, Quaker Chill 
Cake cured me entirely. I have had no recurrence of the disease ” 

Mr. Wm. J. Shed wick, 3404 Wallace St., Philadelphia, writes, 
under date of Nov. 14, 1887 : “I fully endorse the Quaker Chill 
Cake in every respect for the good work it has done for me in 
driving the Malaria entirely out of my system.” 

Price One Dollar a Cake, or Six for Five Dollars. If your 
druggist has not got it call or send to Snyder & Co., sole pro- 
prietors, 1.520 Chestnut St. (Baker Building), Philadelphia, Pa. 

If you w’ould like to know more about Quaker Chill Cake send 
and get a pamphlet relating its history and containing letters 
and expressions from the best class of people and from persons 
widely knownin business and society who have been cured by it. 






Institute, Philadelphia, Pa. 


Humphrey's Manual of Typewrit- 
ing, Business Letter-Writer, and 
Exercises for Phonographic Prac- 
tice. Price, ^ 1 . 50 ; post-paid, Ji. 60 . 
Humphrey’s Interlinear Phono- 
graphic Lessons for Self-Instruc- 
tion; six months’ course, ^ 25 . In- 
terlinear Short-Hand Text-Book, 
$ 2 . Enclose stamp for pamphlet 
and specimen pages, 
onographic and Typewriting 


WHOOPING-COUGH. 


40 years' test of Delavau’s Remedy proves its 
merit. Quickly dispels the whooping, greatly allays and 
lessens severe p.^roxysms of coughing, — cutting short the 
disease. Its peculiar anti-spasmodic action insures 
sleep, and is absolutely harmless in effect. When phy- 
sicians’ or domestic treatment fails, you can rely on 
“DELAVAU’S,” 50c. a bottle. Sold by druggists. 
Depot, Gth and Wood Sts., Philadelphia, Pa. 


ESTERBROOK’S JEFFERSON PEN. 



A round-pointed pen, excellent for correspondence 
and general business purposes. Price, $1.00 per gross. 
Other leading Nos., 048, 14, 130, 333, 239, 161. For sale 
by all stationers and booksellers. 

THE ESTERBROOK STEEL PEN CO., 

WORKS, Camden, N. J. 26 John Street, New York. 

DO YOU WANT A PUBLIC OFFICE? 

100,000 OFFICES in the gift ofthe new adminis- 
tration. The IT. S. BLUE BOOK, J. H. Soule, 
Publisher, Washington, D.C., gives a list of all offices, 
location, salary, etc., and full instructions for office- 
seekers. Price, 75 cents, post-paid. Thousands sold. 

STAMPS. 15 varieties, Asia and Africa, 25c. ; 20 
South and Central America, 25c. ; 15 Australian, 15c. 
Lists free. Sterling Stamp Co., Box 500, St. Louis, Mo. 

C ORRECT style, your name on 25 cards for 40 cents, 
by one of the best penmen. Agents wanted. 

GEORGE J. ELKTON, 
Lock Box 866 , Harrisburg, Pa. 

PflMFORrr"'*^ 

UUIIIlUni 0 COOKING EXTRACTS. 

17 North Eleventh St., Philadelphia, Pa. 

DRUNKARD 

There is no happiness either for you or your family, 
your wife or your children, while you continue spending 
money for rum. Make a change at once for the better. 
Get one bottle of 

PFEIL’S ANTIDOTE 

for alcoholism, costing but a dollar, and in less than a 
week you will have done with liquor forever. Sold by 
all druggists and at office, 

No. 165 North Second St., Philadelphia, Pa. 

Send for circular. Shipped to all parts of the world. 

“DO NOT STAMMER?^ 

John Wanamaker writes: “I never saw worse 
stammerers than some of those you brought to me, 
and the cure wrought upon them was very rapid 
and truly wonderful. I am willing to say this in 
writing or tell it to any one who may call upon me.” 

Endorsed by Geo. W..Cliilds, i)roprietor Philadel- 
phia Ledger. Send for 54-page pamphlet to E. S. 
JOHNSTON’S INSTITUTE, N. E. corner 11th and 
Spring Garden Streets, Philadelphia. 

CHARCOAL CREAM FOR 'THE 'TEEI'H. 

Cleans, Whitens, and Preserves the Teeth. Codtains 
nothing injurious. Ask yflijr Druggist for it. Pri'ci> 25 
cents. Sent by mail on receipt of price. Samples free. 
Send i-cen tstamp. McCAMBRIDGE & SON, 31 South 
Sixth Street, Philadelphia. 


46 



LISLE-SPUN SILK UMBRELLAS 

STRONGEST UMBRELLA IN THE WORLD. 
Warranted not to Cut or Fade. Ask your dealer for 
them, and see that the trade-mark, “ LISLE SPUN,*' is 
stamped on every tie. S. S. FRETZ, Maker, Philada. 

MUTCHINSON^S GLOVES 

ARE THE BEST MADE 
For Driving or Street Wear. Made from 
selected Calf, Kid, Dogskin, Buckskin, and 
Cheverette, and warranted. 

Those wishingserviceable Gloves and to 
save money, send stamp to the manufacturer 
for his book About Gloves, and how to 
get them. 

JOHN C. HUTCHINSON, 
Established 1862. JoUnstown, N. Y. 

RICHARD BINDER, 

IMPORTER OF 

French Hnman Hair aih Hair Mi 


Elegant Front Pieces, Braids, Wigs, 

IN STOCK OK MADE TO ORDER. 

Hair Dressing, Cutting, and Shampooing. 

Weddings and Parties Attended. 

Binder's “PHYTALIA*’ positively cures dan- 
druff and strengthens the hair. 


SILKS, SITINS, fLLYLTS. 

We are Importers and Manu- 
facturers of the most desirable 
and durable fabrics. In Plain 
Black Silks alone we have over 
280 different weaves and quali- 
ties; in Fancy Blacks about 200. 

Send for samples or prices of 
any quality or style desired. 


James McCreery S Co., 

Broadway and iith St., 
NEW YORK. 



THIRTEENTH, ABOVE CHESTNUT ST., 

Opposite Wanamaker's. 


iSENO FOR.OUR PROSPECTUSl 

DOUGLAS MoCALLUMV^^ 
““ ■■ STREET. N.Y, CITY. 



c 


■ A9 fk You can live at home and make more money at work for ns 

■ •■VI than at anything else in the world. Either sex; all ages. 
Costly outfit FBEE. Terms free. Address 

True & Co., Augusta, Maine. 

P ARLOW^S INDICO BLUE. 

^^Its merits as a WASH BLUE have been fully tested and 

endorsed by thousands of housekeepers. Your grocer ought 
to have it on sale. Ask him for it. D. S. WILTBERGER, 
Proprietor, 2.53 North Second Street, Philadelphia, Pa, 

should know how to bear children 
without pain or diinger, cure their 
diseat^es, etc. Sealed information 
for 2 stamps. Baker Remedy Co.. Box 104, Bulfalo.N.Y. 

Mark your 
Clothing I ' 

Clear . 
ord of 
half a 
Cen- 
tury 


WOMEN 



“Most Reliable and Sim- 
plest for plain or deco- 
rative 
mark- 
ing.” 
"se a 
com- 
mon 
pen. 


Sold by all Druggists,- Stationers, 
Hews and Fancy Goods dealers. 


0 ESTAB mSHED I go^-. 

RNELIUS ^^OWbAND, 
©AS FIXTURES, 




1612 




la AMPS 


IN THEIR NEW STORE, 

CHEJS'TlNtU'r 

•pti I Is PL. 


't" *'4' 

STT. 


SUPERFLUOUS HAIR 

on the female face, on the arms, breast, 
neck, forehead, between the eyebrows, 
on men's faces above the beard line, 
destroyed forever without pain, scar, 
- shock, or trace, by the Electric Needle 

Tperation by Dr, J. VAN DYCK, 40 North 11th 
street, Philadelphia. Hours, 9 to 4. Never fails, 
^ook free. 



Established 1850. 

WILLIAM WILER 

MANUFACTURER OF 

STAIR-EODS, STEP-PLATES, 

BRASS BEDSTEADS AND CUDS, 

Fenders, Fire Sets, and Andirons, 

Hand and Foot Mails, Fire Screens, Foot 
Stools, etc, 

223 AND 225 SOUTH FIFTH STREET, 

PHILADELPHIA. 

Send for Catalogue. 





47 




7 v^isce:l-l.kne:ous 


THE LEADING “ENGLISH SPARROW” GUN 




.B 

--X. 

or 

0 

1 FRENCH SOUPS 


^^C/ALl^ _‘^£PAKBZ- 

— . — FOR 

INVALIDS 

BEEFTEA.CHICKENBROTH.CHfCKENSOUP,CONSDMMETAPIOCA 
JULIENNE, GREEN TURTLE, MOCK TURTLE OXTAIL, i 
IN HERMETICALLY SEALED JARS. 
Dffice ioi warren street NEWYORIC 
I SOLD BY BEST DRUGGISTS & FANCY GROCERS. 


■^TIOXjTI^T OTJTIF’ZTS. 

Consisting of Violin, I$ox, Bow 
and Teacher. Sent to any partof 
the United States 
on 1 to 3 days’trial 
I before buying. 



Violin 
Outfits 

at$4,$8,915, and §35 each. Send Stamp for Beau- 
tifully Illustrated 96-page Catalogue of Violins, Guitars, 
Banjos, Cornets, Flutes. Lowest prices. Mailorders a 
Specialty. C. W. STORY, 26 Central St., Boston, Mass. 



IP . 

MockTrials.Plays.Dlalogues.Recltatlons, 
Calisthenics, Debates. Cerd Games, Trade 
Manuals, &c., FREE. (Send for one). 

Fxcelslor Publlshlnc House, 

29 & 31 Beekman St., New York, N. Y. 


D yspeptics, incurable preferred, WANTED. Ad- 
dress J . J . F. Popp, Phila. , Pa. Mention this magasine. 

H ELLMUTH college for Young Ladies. Lon- 
don, Canada. Catalogues. Rev. B. N. ENGLISH, Prin. 





s 5 o »''4 

WCICMT, t!< POUHOa. ilBOTM. 97 

Send2c. Stamp FOR Descriptive Circulars. By express, in 
AWOOD fN BOX PREPAID ANYWHERE IN U.S WITH 125 PROJEC- 
TILES. $2.00. Engle SPRINGGun Co , Hazleton, Pa. 

She Americm Cycles 

Descriptive Catalogue 
ON Application. 
fiORMUlLYaJEFEERY 

:<-IVIFG.CO.-«- 
Chicago, III. 
'est Manufacturers IN AMERICA 



DO YOU WANT A DOG ? 


DOC BUYERS’ GUIDE. 

Colored plates, 100 engravings 
of different breeds, prices they are 
worth, and wliere to buy them 
Mailed for 15 Cents. 

ASSOCIATED FANCIERS, 

337 S. Eighth St. Philadelphia, Fa. 



{ lARBUTTVS DRY PLATES^. For Professionul, 
Amateur, and SoieutiHc Photography, the ni('8t perfect 
and popular Dry Plates made, and the easiest to obtain euocese 
with. CARBUTT’S B Landscape Plates have no e'lual, and 
are the most suitable for beginners. CARBUTT’S New 
“ECLIPSE” Plate, for speed and quality, the finest plate ob 
tainable. Especially desirable for Instantaneous and Magne- 
sium Flash-Light Exposures. CAKBUTT’S OK'i'HOCIlRO- 
MATIC Plates give correct color value and are largely used 
in copying Paintings, Photo -Micography, and for Horticulture 
and Landscape Photography. For sale by dealers in Photo- 
Materials. Descriptive circulars sent on addressing 
JOHN CaRBUTT, Keystone Dry Plate Works, Wayne Juno., Phila., Pa 

The Best Curb in thb World for coughs, JJ 
colds, and consumption is Cutler Bros. & Co's well- 
known Boston Vegetable Pulmonary Balsam. 


COMPLETE n-TTITII? 

m health & disease ^J| ^ ■ b* JCj 


LABIES’ 

Cloth, $ 2.00 |X I ^ \/ Sample 

Mor., $ 2.75 I 1b V/ T pages free. 

AGEBKTS wanted in city and country. 

ALICE B. STOCKH AM & CO. .Chicago. Ill 


LATIN, PART I.. \ J TEN’ WEEKS 


Just Published. Price, 50 cts. 

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A Pint Jar has been filled with dried Peas, 
and seaied. No one knows the number of 
peas in the Jar. Tliey will be counted Feb. 
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awarded. Tlie Ist correct guess ill receive 
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to the ILLUSTRATED COMPANION a nice 

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TO CLUB RllSERS. » 

and iormaClnb, we will send Ponr subscriptions for SOcei ts, 
Eiglit 'or $1.00, Eighteen for $2 00. 80 for $3.00, 60 for $5.00. Each 
S' bscrlption sent with guess opposite name and address In 
I'lein I- is-iires on separate pi' ce o'' paper. S'ze aboi t 2x4in. 

Tit- price of ILIUSI RATED COMPANION *8 *1.00 per year. We 
take tills plan of a vertlHing, instead of sending sample copies 
free, as we a'-e sure, of yearly subscriptions after yon read paper. 

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_7y^iscE:LLMN E:ov7s 



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49 






PROPRIETARY ARTICLES 



3<T^T'cri?,^Xj i^EJLnsrs. 


We haven’t space for all the data, but, in so far as limit permits, we will lay the case 
before you. Drs. Starkey & Palen, the heads of this establishment, are physicians of ex- 
tended experience and established reputation. Perhaps this is better said in the following 
extract from a letter written by the Hon. Judge Kelly, of Philadelphia, in 1883 : 

“ 1 have the highest confidence not only in the treatment itself, but in I)rs. Starkey & 
Palen as gentlemen of skill and integrity.” 

The treatment referred to is the Compound Oxygen treatment, with which Drs. Starkey 
& Palen have been identified during twenty years. They have watched it, developed it; 
mixed their brains with it, you might say. Again, whoever undertakes the Compound 
Oxygen treatment is considered the patient of Drs. Starkey & Palen, and in response to 
the system of correspondence between them and their patients a close and effective relation 
is established, — confidential, satisfactory, exact. There is a perfect record kept of each 
case, and every letter is filed away for reference. With such physicians, such exactness 
of system, and, best of all, such a treatment as Compound Oxygen, good results must follow. 
Compound Oxygen, beside being a salutary adjustment of nature’s most essential blood- 
making elements, is vitalized by positive magnetization. Whoever inhales it assists nature, 
and nature always means well by you. Recovery is a direct result. The most natural 
thing you can do after using Compound Oxygen is to get well, and to get well delightfully. 
For this treatment is as beneficent and kindly in its action as — well, there is no adequate^ 
comparison. Try it for yourself. Here’s what is said by those who have tried it : 

“Conipo^ind. Oxygen Has Helj^eA me won- 

derfully in very many ways. 

“ Mrs. .John Thompson. 

“ Plainville, Mass., October 14, 1888.” 

‘^Compontul Oxygen, is hetter in the House 

than the best physician. A. S. Brown. 

“Media News Bureau, Media, Pa., July 3, 1888.” 

‘*If it Had, not heen for Contponnd Oxygen 

I would, have been under the sod. 

“ C. H. Springer. 

“ Hagerstown, Md., July 14, 1888.” 

*‘THe Compound Oxygen J^i'eatment Has 

been very beneficial to me. A. R. Blaksy. 

“ Charlottesville, Va., Sept. 16, 1888.” 

‘‘I consider Contpound Oxygen avaluahle 

remedy for very many troubles. 

“ Mrs. Wm. R. Curtis. 

“Norwalk, Conn., Oct. 3, 1888.” 

“X Have derived great benefit from tHe 

Compound Oxygen treatment. Wm. Tibbets. 

“West Grafton, Taylor Co., W. Va., Sept. 17, 

1888.” 

“X Have to say that your Compound Oxy- 

gen has done my wife much good. 

“ W. H. Van Fleet. 

“Joliet, III., Oct. 2, 1888.” 

“X 'ivas greatly benefited by tHe use of 

Compound Oxygen. Mrs. Sarah J. Adams. 

“Greenport, Suffolk Co., N.Y.” 

“X €im confident that your Compound Oxy- 
gen saved my life. Mrs. Thomas Pepper. 

“Springfield, Tenn., Sept. 25, 1888.” 

“I Have receitied decided benefit from tHe 

use of Compound Oxygen. Mrs. S. T. Griswold. 

“Greenfield, Ohio, Oct. 6, 1888.” 

“After using Compounfl Oxygen for weeks 

my health is much improved. 

“ Mrs. F. M. Mulvanie. 

“Wauponsee, Grundy Co., Ills.” 

For further information about Compound Oxygen, send for our brochure of 200 pages,, 
which will be forwarded to your address free of charge. It contain* the record of result 
of Compound Oxygen inhalation by invalids suffering from consumption, asthma, bron- 
chitis, dyspepsia, catarrh, hay-fever, headache, debility, rheumatism, neuralgia, all chronic 
and nervous disorders. We also have monographs on the specific diseases indicated above, 
showing by testimony of many well-known people the value of Compound Oxygen as a 
remedial agent. Lastly, we publish a quarterly review entitled Health and Life, contain- 
ing the quarter’s record of the Compound Oxygen treatment. It will be forwarded free 
of charge to any one addressing Drs. Starkey & Palen, 1529 Arch St., Philadelphia, Pa. ; 
331 Montgomery St., San Francisco, Cal. ; 58 Church St., Toronto, Canada. 

50 


**We Have used Compotind Oxygen in our 

family with decided benefit. 

“ Mrs. O. N. Hobron. 

“ Neav London, Conn., Oct. 4, 1888.” 

“X am feeling better than X Have for a 

long time. The improvement is general. 

“Miss C. M. Hill. 

“ WiLKiNSONviLLE, Mass., June 5, 1888.” 

“My mother’s Health is greatly improved 

by the use of your Compound Oxygen. 

“ Miss Charlotte Barstow. 

“ Taunton, Bristol Co., Mass.” 

*‘My wife Has gained very much in strength 

since she has been taking Compound Oxygen. 

“ Mr. W. F. Garlick. 
“No. 7 Dock Square, Boston, Mass.” 

“There is no doubt but that the Compound 

Oxygen is helping Mrs. Shipman. 

“ Rev. W. P. Shipman. 

“ Pawling, Dutchess Co., N.Y., Aug. 24, 1888.” 

I shall altvays think that, with the bless- 
ing of God, your Compound Oxygen saved my life> 

“ Mrs. S. B. Squires. 

“ Water Mills, Suffolk Co., N. Y., Aug. 21, ISSS.” 

“Thanks to the Tord and Compound Oxy- 
gen, I am so much better, and hope soon to be Avell. 

“ Mrs. Strodman. 

“No. 1446 Light St., Baltimore, Md., Aug. 27, 
1888.” 

“Since using your Compound Oxygen X 

have been gaining in strength right along. 

“ Miss Paulina Bagg. 

“Blue Rapids, Marshall Co., Kans., Aug. 29, 
1888.” 

“X ant in better health than for sever€tl 

years, which blessed fact is due to Compound Oxy- 
gen. “ Miss Delia C. Davis. 

“ Galway. N. Y.” 






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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 


